


A Charmed Life

by jeffersonhairpin



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Elio is rich and has an unrealistic view of what is and is not possible bc of that, Health problems with Elio (heart condition), Homophobia?, I'm Bad At Tagging, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Medical Trauma, Oliver has anxiety, Oliver used to be rich but he had reality smack him in the face when he got disowned, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Sadie is Oliver's best friend, Some Fluff, They gonna be in love, Wealth disparity?, no beta we died like men, not much, past depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 99,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24104887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeffersonhairpin/pseuds/jeffersonhairpin
Summary: “Look… It doesn’t have to be tomorrow, or the next day, or next week, but you have to start trying soon. It’s been over a year."When Oliver nods and enough time has passed that she’s convinced he’s heard her well, Sadie smiles and runs a hand through her wild hair, shaking it out.“You need to get laid, anyway,” she says breezily after another sip.Or, Oliver was wealthy and set to go to a good university before his father found out he was gay and took everything away. Over a year later he's on his feet and saving to pay his own way through university, when he meets rich, sheltered Elio in a bookshop. With Oliver's new anxieties and Elio's apparent fairytale view of the world, they help balance each other out over time.
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Comments: 393
Kudos: 220





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% sure about where this one will go, but I needed to be writing something and I didn't want to force my [The Fame](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22766908/chapters/54402985) epilogues and have them not come out as well as they could.
> 
> The title was inspired by watching Uptown Girls recently 😂 (the idea came before that)

It’s not the first time Oliver has set foot in a bookshop since it all happened. 

That’s not the problem. It’s just that it’s his first time in _this_ bookshop that makes his palms sweat as he enters.

He found one near his tiny apartment when he moved in last year and managed to get into a nice routine with the elderly woman who ran the place, feeling at ease there in a way he finds he so rarely does outside his own home nowadays.

But that place is a dry cleaners now. 

Esther gave him all the philosophy and classics books he hadn’t snatched up yet in exchange for his help loading up all the rest into a van to be sold for pennies on the dollar when the doors closed, and he’s managed to make them last for months trying to ration himself… 

But finally, after spending countless nights holed up reading in his cosy shoebox apartment, he’s devoured them all. He knows he’ll need to do further research to make sure he gets into the course he’s saving for, slaving for, the reason he doesn’t just give up and accept where he is… 

But that doesn’t make him any less nervous as he winces at the sound of the bell by the door ringing, calling attention to his entrance. 

The employee at the counter doesn’t even seem to notice, thankfully, apparently too engrossed in whatever he’s reading as he takes a distracted bite of his apple.

Trying to shake off his worries, Oliver makes his way to the back of the store where he sees the sign for the classics section. 

He ducks his head and strides towards the sign, suddenly very aware that he’s wearing the dirty clothes of a construction worker in a fairly nice place, suddenly _painfully_ aware of how he looks even if he _knows, logically,_ that most people wouldn’t even take note of him or his clothing, let alone judge him for it… 

He decides to bring a change of clothes with him to the site next time anyway, to spare himself another thought added to the buzzing in his head that never used to be there, before his father found—

Well. It wasn’t so loud before, anyway. He’ll spare himself where he can now.

He knows exactly the book he’s looking for and precisely the price here as he approaches the shelf, having looked it all up the day before. His hand shakes a little as he reaches up but he can’t do anything about it, and he’s already here. He needs to just get it done – it will look strange to leave with nothing anyway. With his clothing the guy with the book might think he stole something and that’ll just make it all much worse and—

Clutching the book in two hands Oliver strides to the counter, eager to get out and get home.

The boy working at the counter is still distracted as Oliver approaches with his unwarranted nerves, still leaning against the counter eating an apple with his eyes wide and eyebrows raised at whatever is happening in the book held ever so casually in his right hand. 

He doesn’t raise his eyes to the shadow in his peripheral vision as Oliver steps forward, just raises a finger on the hand holding the apple and says, “One second, this is insane.”

Oliver frowns softly, unsure of what to do. He looks to the side uncomfortably, shifting his weight from foot to foot in the silence. This isn’t how he planned this going.

As he shifts awkwardly, clutching the book in his clammy hands, Oliver finally looks the boy in the face and feels some kind of fight or flight instinct coming on, cursing himself for freaking out but unable to stop it.

Why couldn’t this cashier just be another elderly Belgian woman who called Oliver ‘dear’, like Esther? Why does he have to some kind of fucking nymph, all dark curly hair and green eyes and _delicate structure with underlying softness?_

How is he supposed to talk to this guy every other week without swallowing his tongue and embarrassing himself? He’s going to have to go somewhere else…

After about ten years the boy finally lowers his book and blows out a breath that puffs his cheeks. 

“Sorry about that but I’m pretty sure they just killed the main character,” he says easily as he takes another bite and places his apple to the side – not exactly arrogant, but also apparently not at all worried that his customer might be unhappy with his service. 

When he finally looks up to Oliver his eyes widen. 

“Jesus, look at _you,”_ he exclaims unselfconsciously as he chews, giving Oliver an obvious up and down before raising a brow. “Are you fucking _Thor?_ How tall are you even?”

Oliver feels blood rush to his cheeks as the boy takes the book from his hands as though he’s said nothing, and is immediately annoyed with himself that his embarrassment is so obvious – he never used to get nervous like this and he never used to _blush_ either… His body has betrayed him.

_Is it obvious that I’m flustered because he’s gorgeous? Fuck, this is so embarrassing…_

“I’m uh— I’m six-five,” he finally answers awkwardly, unsure of how else to react.

“Well, well done you,” the boy says suggestively with an unabashed grin – _‘Elio :)’_ according to his name tag. 

Oliver knows he must look like a deer in the headlights as his brain freezes at his tone. 

_Does he know? What gave me away, other than the blushing? Can other people tell too? I thought I was hiding it, why would he assume? Look at how I’m dressed! Why would—_

“Thirty,” this Elio says, holding out his hand expectantly and meeting Oliver’s frowning gaze with his own overly-innocent doe-eyed stare, like he knows what he’s doing to his customer.

“What?” Oliver asks dumbly. 

“Thirty,” he repeats. “Thirty dollars? …For the book,” he clarifies further when Oliver says nothing, apparently thoroughly amused by the disaster before him. 

Oliver’s flush deepens as he says, “Oh yeah, sorry, obviously,” and reaches into his pocket for the exact cash he knows he has there. He fumbles for a second in his nervousness, but eventually gets his cash on the counter, smoothing it out carefully before sliding it over.

“Thanks,” the kid says easily as he takes the money, barely glancing at it to be sure it’s the right amount before throwing it in the till, while Oliver’s face is _burning_ and there’s nothing he can _do_ about it.

The cashier studies Oliver curiously while he waits for the receipt to print, which only makes him more self-conscious. He places his hands in his pockets as the boy speaks, in a coy tone that belies his words’ utterly devastating effect.

“You know, I wouldn’t have expected someone with so many muscles to be into the classics.”

Oliver stills in his shaking for a moment – what the hell is that supposed to mean?

_Is he flirting with me again? How does he know? Or… does he mean someone like me wouldn’t be smart enough to understand the book?_

_…He probably just saw the sweat on the book from my hands and decided to mess with me. He could be the type, I could see that._

Heart sinking at hearing what sounds to him like exactly what he feared hearing when he walked in, Oliver knows his face falls. His brain short-circuits for a second as though trying to compute how this could be happening before it allows him to spur back into action.

Frowning and collecting his book and receipt, Oliver does not meet the boy’s eyes again.

He can’t think of anything to say as he walks out, barely noticing the ring of the bell this time, and not even registering the, _“Hey, sorry! It was a compliment!”_ called out behind him in his rush to just get away, away, _away…_

He’s barely a few steps down the street when his brain starts torturing him.

The thing that drives him insane about these misfires is that he can’t change any of it. Even when he figures out exactly what he should have done to handle that perfectly while he’s supposed to be sleeping tonight, he can’t change it. And he knows he’ll never think fast enough in the moment to prevent it from happening again, no matter what he figures out. 

Even if he does everything right with that cashier for the rest of his life, he can’t take that interaction back. How’s he supposed to go back there?

His brain is whirring and in the din he finds himself angry – not in the satisfying, burning, righteous way, in the defensive, cornered, desperate way. The way that feels wrong in his chest even if he can’t help but feel it.

_Why couldn’t he have just kept his fucking mouth shut? It was obvious I was nervous – that I’m a fucking disaster – why couldn’t he have just done his job? I know he was fucking looking down on me, just like I know I used to kind of look down on—_

_That’s not the point, he shouldn’t have fucking said anything,_ I _wouldn’t have said anything to_ him _…_

Oliver’s thoughts are on a loop most of the way home, but by the time he makes through his front door and to his velvety second hand couch to curl up and try to shift this hollowness in his chest that is somehow heavy and full of crawling bugs and wrong, wrong, wrong… a part of his brain that always tries to bring him back to the person he used to be comes in to remind him that he really has nothing to be angry for.

 _It was a throwaway comment, Oliver,_ it insists. _Anyone else would have known that, that was nothing. It was meant as a compliment, and he probably feels bad now… Why can’t you just trust that it’s fine? Why are you like this?_

 _You need to start going out for something other than work and books or you’ll never get back to normal. That’s what you want, right? Just… make some_ friends, _man. It’s not that hard, you make things so difficult now…_

The fire in him doused in water and left to steam in the aftermath, embarrassed and lost in his conflicting instincts… all Oliver knows is that whatever went wrong there, it was his fault in some way.

Taking long, slow, deep breaths and clutching the book to his chest, he tells himself that what matters is that he got the book. He got the book, and he doesn’t need to go back until he’s finished with it – and who knows, with that guy’s work ethic, there might be a different cashier by then.

He knows that last thought isn’t helping him get over what he knows is anxiety, but the fact that he knows that somehow comforts him. He knows it’s anxiety, he just doesn’t have the time or energy to do anything about it now. He’ll deal with it later, it’s not like he doesn’t know what’s happening…

He just can’t stop it when it starts.

Which is a problem.

But he can’t afford a therapist anyway.

And working around construction guys all day, hearing the way they throw around the word _fa—_

Maybe a little bit of fear is a good thing, for now. For now his fear is really just protecting him and his job security. It’s fine, for now…

Once his heartrate is back to normal Oliver sighs and throws some two minute noodles in the microwave, exhausted. A cup of noodles and a chapter of his new book later he hears slow knock coming from the other side of the wall behind him. A smile comes to his lips – he hoped she’d want to talk tonight.

Placing his book down Oliver grabs his winter coat and heads next door, to his neighbour Cassady’s place.

She helped him get his place when he was first trying to find his feet and he owes her more than he can ever repay, but all she ever wants from him is conversation and a smoking buddy – he can’t afford cigarettes or wine while he’s saving, but if she’s sharing…

He doesn’t bother to knock, knowing that Sadie will be waiting on her balcony with an ashtray, a bottle of wine, and two glasses – the fancy crystal ones her mother gave to her before she died.

“Were you freaking out before?” she asks non-judgementally as she pours two small glasses. “Did you do the breathing stuff I told you about?”

Oliver just sighs softly and takes the proffered glass, draining it and holding it out for a refill.

“One of those days, huh?” she asks, pouring with a raised brow.

Oliver just nods and takes a cigarette from the pack sitting on the ledge, lighting it with her zippo. 

“I went to the new bookstore,” he says around a smoky exhale, knowing she’ll know what he means to say.

“Oh, you did?” she asks, taking a sip of her ‘cabernet sauvignon’ – in reality, it’s too piss-cheap to be labelled anything more than ‘fermented grapes’, but she doesn’t mind. “How did that go? They gave you the book for free for being such a swell, charming guy?”

Oliver gives a deadpan look – some days he feels too stressed for Sadie’s ribbing but ultimately, talking to her is the only time he gets to relax while interacting with another human being with Esther gone.

“No, they didn’t give me the book for free,” he says flatly, and Sadie gives an exaggerated pout. 

“Did they make you king of the philosophy section?” she asks, poking his knee with a painted toenail – orange this time.

Done with the joking, Oliver passes his friend the cigarette and takes a small sip, sighing again.

“No… I don’t know if I should go back. I don’t know if I’m overreacting or not.”

Sadie rolls her eyes at that, though Oliver knows she knows how overwhelming it can all feel to him. He needs her to help him figure out which side of himself to trust in situations like this, and her laissez-faire attitude helps him feel like it’ll be okay.

“Alright, tell me what happened, drama-king,” she says, not-unkindly, with a puff of smoke, flicking the cigarette to get rid of the ash.

“I don’t know…” Oliver trails off, thinking. “The kid at the counter – well, not a kid I don’t think, he had one of those faces where he could be twenty-four or literally seventeen? Anyway, he was kind of ignoring me when I got there to pay because he was reading this book, which was rude but he was just… he was really good looking, so I kind of went into panic mode and I know I was acting weird and then he said that he wouldn’t expect _someone like me_ to read the book I was buying and... I don't know, it got to me.”

Sadie is frowning doubtfully at the end, holding the smoke in her lungs for a moment as she thinks before letting it out through her nose.

“Did he say that? Like, did he actually say the words _‘someone like you’?”_ she asks sceptically, raising a brow.

If Oliver said yes he knows she would believe him, but she knows him well enough by now to know that it’s unlikely to be as bad as it seems to him, or as bad as he says at first.

“Well…” he trails off, reaching for the cigarette for something to do with his hands.

Sadie just raises a brow and takes a sip, not looking away from Oliver’s eyes. Oliver gives in, sighing once again and telling the truth.

“He said, _‘I wouldn’t have expected someone with so many muscles to be into the classics,’,_ and then I froze, and I left.”

“Oliver,” Sadie groans, lifting her leg to poke his shoulder frustratedly. “He wasn’t insulting you, he was _flirting_ with you, dumbass.”

“I don’t know,” Oliver breathes, shoving his fists into his eye sockets. “I thought maybe he was before that and that made me more nervous and that made me blush and I thought maybe he was fucking with me because he saw I was blushing and-" He frowns. "Do I literally have the word 'gay' written on my forehead?”

Sadie sighs.

“Oliver,” she says gently. “A cute boy flirted with you, and all you thought about was being outed again? Was there even anyone else in the store?”

Oliver doesn’t meet her gaze, lowering his eyes and looking down onto the cold street below.

“What more can be taken from you? Why can’t you just be out?” she asks. “I get not screaming it from the rooftops at a construction site, but… don’t you think it’s time to start branching out?”

Slowly Oliver shakes his head, taking the cigarette back and taking a long drag. 

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “It… it still scares me. When I think about other people finding out I still just think of the yelling and the consequences and how quickly everything changed and…”

Sadie understands, but she’s not one to dwell, gently pushing her friend forward, hoping she’s helping.

“Well _he’s_ clearly fine with it, if he’s flirting with you,” she suggests softly, knowing that now is not the time for joking. “And I really do think he was flirting. Don’t avoid the store. Go back, soon. Talk to him, maybe something will happen… You can’t hide forever.”

“I can’t?” Oliver jokes, knowing it will fall flat but ready to move on – he’s heard her and he _will_ consider it because he trusts her, but tonight he just needs this to be easy.

“Look…” Sadie sighs, ready to wrap this up too but needing to say something. “It doesn’t have to be tomorrow, or the next day, or next week, but you have to start trying soon. It’s been over a year,” she implores. 

When Oliver nods and enough time has passed that she’s convinced he’s heard her well, Sadie smiles and runs a hand through her wild hair shaking it out. 

“You need to get laid, anyway,” she says breezily after another sip.

Huffing a small affectionate laugh Oliver shakes his head and takes a sip of his own and listens to his friend as she launches into the story of how she met the love of her life in a bar last night over a game of pool and how they’re one hundred percent meant to be. No she did not get a number.

Oliver takes a moment to study his friend as she babbles. She looks like a ginger Stevie Nicks impersonator and she definitely has her moments… but he doesn’t know what he’d have done without her, or how he’d get through the weeks and months without these moments. 

They’re an odd pair, but somehow they’ve got each other.

He’s not entirely sold on the idea of returning to the shop in his heart, but in his mind he knows she’s probably right. 

Rude green eyed boy or no rude green eyed boy… he needs to start moving forward in his life again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter Oliver and Elio will spend time together! Please come along for the ride, I promise cuteness and also angst 😘
> 
> What do you think? What would you like to see explored and fleshed out more? Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver returns to the shop and Elio has a proposition for him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I planned to have a scene between Elio and his parents talking about the date at the end to establish their relationship, but I liked how this ended, so I guess it's kind of the first chapter again, but with things going right :')) I'm not entirely sure about this chapter but it felt like it had been enough time to just let it go I guess
> 
> [Love Train](https://youtu.be/lPANpBsNJas?t=128) is the Wolfmother song Sadie loves by the way - were they big outside Australia?? Let me know if you know them and are from elsewhere?
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe still, and I hope you enjoy!

Usually Elio wakes up thinking about the dream he’s just awoken from or something his parents said on the phone last night or whatever it is he’s going to do today, yawning into the morning sunlight and checking to see if his cat is in the bed before pulling back the rumpled covers and padding over to the bathroom to take care of business before starting his day.

But not lately.

Since that shaking construction worker left the store in a rush he finds his thoughts wandering to him in their spare time – which is often; he only works two days a week.

He _had_ been teasing him a little bit, but only because he liked him! He was hot… 

But then he looked so devastated…

Usually Elio just shakes off unpleasant interactions with customers – he doesn’t even _need_ to work there, it’s just something for him to do while he’s figuring out what he wants to do, but he knows it was something _he_ did that made that gorgeous, tall, blonde, _hard-working philosophy man_ look like someone kicked his puppy… 

Usually he wouldn’t still be thinking about it, but something about this guy makes Elio want him to like him.

Groaning knowing there’s nothing he can do about it until the man decides to come back in, if he ever does, Elio shuffles to his bathroom and washes his face. He brushes his teeth and takes a long shower so the brushing won’t ruin his breakfast, and then he grabs his pillbox and heads to the kitchen.

He can’t be bothered with more than toast today so he just slathers on the Nutella and sits down to take his first five pills of the day. 

Elio is pretty easy going with most things in his life, but he knows that that life depends on him taking these drugs correctly, in the right doses, at the right times each day, every day for the rest of his life, and so he takes it very seriously, counting and re-counting and making sure they’re all the right colours and sizes.

It’s been years of smooth sailing at this point, but he’s certain he’s not going to get another heart after this one so he’s hypervigilant in making sure his body decides to keep it.

This one was hard enough to come by anyway.

Usually he’d be playing piano or dancing about – spending a not-insignificant portion of your childhood tiring out before everyone else will make you appreciate being able to dance – but today, as with most other mornings these past few weeks, he finds he doesn’t have the desire to. His parents have even asked him what’s up at dinner but discussing it hasn’t stopped it from bothering him.

He just has to wait ‘til philosophy construction guy comes back.

The day passes slowly, but it does pass, and after his lunch and his second round of pills Elio is back in the shop, reading the latest of the trashy romance novels that keep stores like this one afloat when the bell at the door rings.

As with every time since that day Elio strains to see if he recognises the person coming in and _holy shit._

Hot nervous philosophy man.

Giddy at his chance to apologise and feel better and talk to a hot guy again, Elio jumps up from his stool and strides over to where he’s standing, looking just as jumpy as last time – if not more so.

He’s wearing his own clothes this time, a pair of jeans that accentuate his best features _quite_ nicely and a clean, casual shirt with a collar. Something about seeing him in his own clothes makes Elio feel stupid. He stares for a moment before the guy senses that someone is there and turns his head as he pulls his book down from the shelf, breaking him out of his trance.

“Hi!” Elio says brightly, his confident instincts taking over as he extends a hand.

The guy stares silently at his hand like it’s just grown from his chest for a moment before jerkily transferring the book to his other hand so he can shake. 

His palm is clammy as Elio suspected it would be judging by the anxiety the guy has radiated both times he’s been in, but he doesn’t mind. It’s never been a problem for him but he’s been on the internet long enough to know about social anxiety, at least a little. 

Hoping his ease and confidence will help put the guy at ease, Elio just pushes on, trying to create some familiarity as his customer eyes him with veiled wariness.

“I’m Elio,” he says simply.

“I know,” Oliver says, before his face does something funny and he blinks a lot and he corrects himself. “I—I mean that it’s on your name tag.”

But then Oliver looks down and sees the empty space where the name tag was last time and immediately blushes, feeling his ears going red again and hating every second of it – this is worse than last time, why can’t he just interact with this kid normally? 

“It was before,” he corrects again quietly, looking down before he can see Elio’s smile.

“Oh yeah, I forgot it today,” the boy says lightly, trying to exude enough forgiving energy to make his customer relax. 

It doesn’t seem to be working judging by the way he looks down uncomfortably again, but he pushes on – he _really_ wants this guy to like him. 

“So what’s yours?” Elio asks, fascinated by how much thought seems to happen in this man’s head in the short silence between his sentences, and by how quickly his eyes snap back up when he’s spoken to – it’s like he can’t decide whether to run or fight, as though the conversation were some kind of conflict.

“My what?” he asks, looking worried.

Elio laughs kindly but Oliver’s blush doesn’t relent, too caught up in trying to get through the interaction to enjoy the sound.

“What’s your _name?”_ Elio asks, still smiling but trying his best to sound more kind than amused.

“Oh,” Oliver says, trying to swallow as quickly as possible so he can say it so this boy won’t think he’s… not all there, or something.

_He already thinks I’m too dumb for this stuff…_

“Oliver, I’m Oliver,” he manages to get out – a little too fast but without any stuttering or vocal gymnastics, so he’s going to call it a tentative win.

Elio’s smile brightens, genuinely pleased to have a name to put to the face.

“Well – Oliver then,” he says, taking the book from Oliver’s hands and walking towards the counter. “Is it just this one today?”

Oliver panics for a moment – is that the right one? He’d barely found the spine of the book he was looking for when he saw Elio in the periphery, what if he picked up the wrong one by accident?

Then he’ll have to pay for the wrong one and waste his money and get behind in his research, or he’ll have to tell him it’s the wrong one and the conversation will go on even longer while they go back to get the right one and he won’t be able to find it because he’ll panic, and he’ll think he’s stupid and—

Elio is oblivious to the noise in Oliver’s head, just hears a murmured, “Um… yeah, I think so,” as they get to the counter. 

He doesn’t notice Oliver trying to see the cover as he places it down or the look of relief on his face when he sees that it is the right one after all, he just happily busies himself applying his employee discount to the purchase, hoping to get to see this Oliver man smile.

“Thirty-two,” he says, holding out his hand like last time.

Oliver’s brow just furrows though, as he stares at the forty dollars in the palm of his hand – he remembered to pull it out of his pocket at the appropriate time this time around, but that’s not the price.

“It’s forty?” he says dumbly, instantly doubting himself – maybe the price on the website was wrong? He should have double checked, he’s going to look so _stupid…_

Elio does see his turmoil this time, redoubling his efforts to put Oliver at ease.

“Nope!” he says sunnily. “Employee discount for my favourite customer.”

Oliver’s frown only deepens though, frustrating Elio to no end – he just wants to make hot classics guy _smile,_ how hard can it _be?_

“I’ve only been in here once, how can I be—” Oliver takes a breath. “Won’t you get into trouble? I’m not an employee, I don’t—I can’t get—”

Oliver cuts himself off, knowing that there’s no way to communicate his irrational fear of being banned from the store for accepting a discount when he shouldn’t have that doesn’t sound crazy or rude.

Backpedalling, Elio immediately raises his hands in mock-surrender and presses the appropriate buttons on the screen to hopefully make this worrying man stop worrying. 

_Note to self: no discounts,_ he thinks with a combination of confusion and amusement.

“Okay, okay,” he says. “You can have it for forty, but only because you asked so nicely.”

Finally his efforts seem to pay off a little – Oliver gives a pained smile mixed in with relief as he hands over the money. 

Encouraged by the inch of progress, Elio decides to take a mile and make his move. 

“Hey, I’m really sorry if you were bothered by what I said last time,” he begins. “I was only saying it because you’re like… threateningly good-looking,” he says with playful honesty, hoping Oliver picks up on his suggestive, joking tone. 

But the man just stares at him, frozen like he was last time.

 _Oh god, please don’t run off again,_ Elio begs internally, immediately continuing in an effort to keep him here.

“Anyway, if you don’t want a discount maybe I could take you out to dinner to say sorry instead? …Is that something you’d be interested in?”

The freezing mostly continues at the words, though a frown line does appear between Oliver’s eyebrows as he looks down as if replaying the last few seconds in his head to be sure he heard right.

“How—” he starts, looking up. “How old are you?”

Blunt, but to the point, Elio supposes – he’s not offended in the least, he knows he looks young to most people.

“I’m nineteen,” he replies easily, before raising a brow and taking the money held in Oliver’s still-frozen hand. “How old are _you?”_

“Twenty-one,” Oliver replies dazedly. 

_This isn’t happening. I have no reason to say no, I’m going to have to do this._

“Well,” Elio exclaims as he prints the receipt and offers it. “All above-board, perfectly appropriate then… What do you say? Apology dinner, all expenses paid?”

This Oliver guy seems to spend more of his time choking than breathing from what Elio has seen, but he finds it strangely endearing. 

It doesn’t feel very endearing on Oliver’s end, however, as his mind whirs into overdrive – his question to Sadie weeks ago comes to mind again… _‘Do I literally have the word ‘gay written on my forehead?’_

How is this kid not afraid to be so forward with this kind of thing?

After far too long he frowns harder and says, after swallowing, “What made you think I’m even interested in men?”

He seems to be genuinely asking and it’s a fair question in Elio’s opinion; one he’s perfectly willing to answer if it’ll get him an answer. 

He places the receipt down on the book since philosophy guy is apparently not going to take it, and shrugs.

“Nothing in particular, you just don’t look like you’d beat me up if you weren’t,” he says honestly, lifting one corner of his mouth to create what he hopes is the expression of a charming scamp. “…Are you though?” he hazards, raising a brow.

Ah, more choking – with a little bit of stuttering mixed in this time.

All Oliver can hear in his mind is Sadie yelling at him tonight if he turns this down – Elio is a little bit forward, yes, but he’s beautiful and he obviously reads and he’s so _confident_ and also _beautiful_ and Sadie will absolutely kill him if he doesn’t accept this offer.

“I’m—Well, I’m—Well yes, but—”

Elio has heard enough to move on and spare this poor man from having to answer in whole sentences.

“Excellent,” he exclaims, internally rolling his eyes in what he would already call affection as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. “Give me your phone,” he instructs, knowing that if there’s any doubt about what he’s supposed to do Oliver will flounder.

Oliver jumps to do as told and produces his phone from his pocket, handing it over.

Elio widens his eyes at the sight of what is very clearly not a smartphone. He hasn’t seen a flip phone in years.

“Jesus, when did you last upgrade?” he laughs, not thinking about how his words might be taken. 

Oliver blushes furiously, unsure whether he should be offended or not. He sets his jaw and tenses defensively as he takes Elio’s shiny new iPhone-whatever-it-is-now.

“Not everyone needs a million apps to live,” he says before he can think, immediately regretting his tone and imagining the crotchety image of himself he’s just put in Elio’s head.

_Fuck, he’s not going to want to go on a date with someone who says shit like that, he’s going to… ghost me, or whatever. Sadie’s going to kill me…_

He’s surprised by how far his heart sinks considering he wasn’t even entirely sure he _liked_ this kid when he walked in today. In that moment he acknowledges to himself that he _would_ be sad if they didn’t end up doing something together, even if the thought of that terrifies him utterly. 

He’s instantly devastated at what he’s said as he imagines the fallout…

But then Elio just laughs easily, not even looking up from trying to navigate to contacts as he says, “Fair.”

It’s like he hasn’t even considered that he could be offended.

Oliver’s eyes widen in surprise, some of his guilt and anxiety finally melting at the sound, even just for a moment. Maybe he hasn’t ruined everything? Maybe Elio isn’t assuming the worst of him in everything he does? Maybe he does just… like him?

Or at least an idea of him.

He types in his name and number and waits awkwardly for Elio to be done figuring out how to use the keys on such an outdated model.

“Alright,” Elio grins, happy with the way things have gone as they exchange phones. “I’ll text you to set up a time and place?”

Oliver nods, not entirely sure what’s even just happened, and says, “Yeah, okay.”

_Clap-clap Oliver, you managed a reply before you got out the door this time._

When he’s still standing there staring two seconds later Elio decides to have mercy again and places the receipt in the book, walking around the counter and gesturing for Oliver to follow him to the door.

He swings it open and passes Oliver the book, which he instinctively reaches out to take. Ecstatic with the outcome of his plan, Elio just waves as the door slowly swings shut even though Oliver is only about three feet away, hoping to leave enough of a happy-go-lucky impression to make hot philosophy man Oliver relax before they do out – he can lead a conversation better than most, but even he’s going to struggle if his date feels that uncomfortable the whole time.

Overall though, Elio calls it a smashing success, almost skipping back to his counter as Oliver collects himself and walks away.

Oliver, however, walks home slowly, still trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. 

Somehow he’s humiliated himself further but gathered some tentative evidence that slightly-rude-green-eyed-boy – _Elio_ – doesn’t think he’s a lost cause? 

Well, a date is a lot of evidence, really…

He isn’t sure if excited or horrified nerves are ruling the hornets in his stomach on the walk home, but he’s definitely feeling a lot of _something._

He does almost exactly the same thing he did last time, sitting on his couch and trying to push down everything he’s feeling so he can think. He tries Sadie’s breathing techniques this time, but he’s not sure they’re working properly because he still feels off and uneasy. 

He’s still just lying there very quietly panicking about going on a _date_ with a _guy_ , the anxious part of him warring with the part that argues that he knew he needed to move forward eventually, which is answered with a _But not now._ Which is answered, in Sadie’s voice, with a _…When, then?_

 _I don’t know, later,_ he mentally groans. _I’ve never even been on a date with a guy before… What if I’m supposed to know something about dating a guy by twenty-one that I_ don’t _know because of everything and he_ does _know even though he’s younger and he laughs at me for it?_

Twenty minutes after he laid down on the couch he’s even more worked up than when he entered, jumping when his phone vibrates and groaning when he sees it’s from Elio.

_“hey it’s elio from the bookstore, thought id hold off for the obligatory not-stalking-you waiting period before making sure ive got the right number – oliver? :)”_

Oliver finds himself smiling a small smile for a moment at the candidness, the correct spelling but lack of grammar, at how at ease Elio seems to feel at all times… before his discomfort returns a few seconds later as he realises that he’ll need to reply.

It takes him another ten minutes of wording and rewording to decide to reply with:

_“Yes, this is Oliver :)”_

At which point he _does not pout in discontent,_ and curls up on his side, deciding to just half-watch the news while he waits for Sadie to get home. Whether he screwed up his talking or his actions or his reply, at least he knows Sadie will be happy that he said yes and help him navigate the rest.

And if it turns out he’s getting messed around or something… she’ll make it look like an accident.

When she finally does get home and knock for him to come over she’s ecstatic for him, and it helps Oliver feel a little bit calmer about it all even if it’s only for a little while… Maybe it _is_ something to be excited about.

Sadie plays a celebratory playlist over her tiny Bluetooth speaker and gets Oliver a little bit drunk that night, knowing he’s not working the next day – she’s truly happy to see her friend smile, even if the hint of anxiety never quite leaves him while they’re talking about this bookshop boy.

Who honestly seems like a delight, when she’s coaching Oliver through texting like a normal human being to arrange their date for this Friday. It’s at a restaurant she knows is fancy, but she but she just assures him it won’t be too much… she is absolutely lying but it can’t be helped – the truth will only freak him out early.

This Adonis-like fool doesn’t know what’s good for him, so she does her best.

She crosses her fingers and toes for good luck when he isn’t looking, hoping for the best as she watches him affectionately. 

She tries to keep it light with Oliver and in her life, but privately she often thinks about how hard he’s worked for everything that’s good in his life since his parents decided he wasn’t their son anymore… 

He _deserves_ something _plainly good._

Sadie hopes bookshop boy will be something good, smiling to herself as her best friend sings along slightly too loudly to Wolfmother, just as she’s taught him.

“Good Oliver,” she says around a grin as she emerges from her thoughts, less than sober herself. She drops her chin and gives a pinning look as she points at him and says, “Where do you need to get?” raising a brow.

Oliver grins back, happy and tipsy and encouraged, though he’s rolling his eyes.

“Back out on the love train?” he guesses, quoting the song.

“That’s right,” Sadie says sagely, closing her eyes and nodding. “You’ve got to get back out on the love train for you are ready to fly, my baby bird.”

“I’m a bird ready to fly on a train?”

Sadie thinks for a moment.

“Yes,” she decides.

“Okay Sadie,” Oliver laughs.

 _“'Okay Sadie',”_ she mocks, pulling a face. “Just drink your wine.”

Truthfully she doesn’t know if Oliver is ready to do _anything,_ she barely knows how to run her own life… But something’s got to give, and this seems like a safe enough bet to her.

Maybe things will get complicated later, but at least for tonight this is something simple, and fun, and _good…_

He deserves something so, plainly _good…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tags give away what's up with Elio's pills and heart and stuff a bit if you're wondering lol
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! Please let me know what you liked/didn't like/are interested to see explored in the future!
> 
> Stay safe ♥️♥️


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio and Oliver have their first date - it starts out a little shaky, but things can't help but find a rhythm with the boys so drawn to one another...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, it took forever again. I've got so much more planned for the rest of it and I'm so excited to get to it, but I still have to figure out how to get it there 😭 It's so hard to focus lately 😒😒
> 
> Elio's projected part in the story has changed a fair bit since I wrote last, so I hope it'll be interesting to read!
> 
> I made an edit thingy for this and posted it over on tumblr at [jeffersonhairpin](https://jeffersonhairpin.tumblr.com/post/619228560811589632/a-charmed-life-on-ao3-look-it-doesnt-have-to) if you wanna check it out or follow me for cmbyn stuff and fic updates :)

Friday arrives and Oliver has spent the last few days trying desperately not to think about what’s coming. Most of the time he’s successful, when he’s working or studying, but when he tries to sleep…

Well.

So naturally, there are deep bags under his eyes on Friday afternoon when Sadie comes over to make sure he doesn’t dress like he’s going to church, or burrow away and hide instead of going out.

“Jesus, are you _trying_ to make my job hard? You look like the dead,” she groans as she runs her hands through his hair to try and give it some life.

He sighs, exasperated but grateful that his friend isn’t dancing around him. The only thing worse than her freewheeling approach would be if she suddenly treated him like glass.

“I could have done my own hair, Sadie,” he mumbles, picking at his nails and jumping when she slaps his hands.

“Stop that. And like I’m going to let my only son do everything himself before his first date,” she grouses, gesturing for him to stand up and dusting her hands off on her pants before smiling up at him overly cheerily. “Ready?”

“No,” Oliver grumbles, immediately going back to picking dirt out of his fingernails from his day’s work before defending, “And it’s not my first date.”

Sadie gives a look.

“Awkwardly making out with some blonde bimbo you felt no attraction to at a movie in high school does not count.”

“Madison was not a _bimbo,_ she was—”

“I do not want to hear this tragic story,” Sadie laughs before musing, “Her name was Madison Oliver, she wasn’t for you even if you did like women. Good thing you’re going on a date with a pretty _boyy,”_ she singsongs, laughing as she pinches her reserved friend’s cheeks.

“Not helping,” he groans, caught halfway between dread and frustration with her.

Maybe she’s onto something if he’s only _half_ panicking.

“Hey come on, I know this is scary to you – and you can’t change that in the next five minutes,” Sadie says, finally serious as she pats his cheek twice, firmly, and looks into his eyes knowing that he needs actual moral support now. “The fact is that you’re going on a date with a cute boy who seems to be more than comfortable taking the lead if you freak out. He likes you. He asked _you_ out… You will be fine.”

By the end she’s looking into Oliver’s eyes with the kind of piercing _knowing_ that would make him desperately uncomfortable coming from anyone else, but from her?

He does feel a little better.

Sadie is the thorn in his side and a pain in his ass, but she’s also the sister he never had, the mother he wishes his had been, even though she’s not much older than him. She taught him how to get a decent paying job, how to do his taxes, how to get his apartment… He trusts her that it will be okay, even if he doesn’t feel it.

He looks down for a moment to hold it together, not needing to get blotchy and emotional before he leaves. Thankfully when he looks back up Sadie’s grin is back in place.

“Ready for your first date with your soulmate?”

“He’s not my soulmate,” Oliver groans, happy the moment happened but happier to be moving on.

“Not with that kind of attitude he’s not,” Sadie proclaims, kicking her friend’s backside lightly with her bare foot to get him to the door. “Get out of my house!” she cries with a laugh. “Be free, go to your lover!”

She throws Oliver’s wallet at him from the door like a quarterback and laughs before shutting the door on his slightly stressed smile. There’s nothing more she can do for him, but despite that last uneasy face she’s confident in her strategy.

“I should start a life coaching business,” she muses to herself with a sip of wine as she saunters over to her couch to see what’s on Netflix – joking as she says it but then raising an eyebrow and tilting her head in consideration.

_That’s not a crazy idea actually…_

As Oliver approaches the restaurant he knows Sadie lied to him. 

_This place_ is _fucking fancy, it has a_ valet. 

When he lost access to his family’s money it surprised Oliver how quickly he began to see things which didn’t seem all that special before as completely out of reach; ridiculous extravagances.

The valet makes him very fucking uneasy, as if it wasn’t bad enough already.

 _…Is Elio arriving by car? Is he expecting_ me _to have a car? The kind of car a valet won’t laugh at? He said all expenses paid but is he expecting me to have the kind of money to have a car and pay for food here?_

_…How does he have the kind of money to pay here, he works in a bookshop!_

When Elio arrives, Oliver is just standing there, confused and frowning and beginning the freak out he knew was coming the second Sadie closed the door because he _does not have the money to be splitting a bill here if 'all expenses paid' was a joke._

Trying to rehearse in his head what he’s going to say to get out of this, Oliver turns to the side in distress and sees him walking up with a casual smile and an easy walk, like he does this every day.

_He probably does, just about._

He’s wearing light faded jeans rolled up to reveal his cream converse, his loose shirt rosy and his denim jacket oversized, though not by too much – a perfect look for the slowly fading light of the sun hovering behind him…

He looks like a fucking model.

Meanwhile Oliver looks down and suddenly feels like an idiot in his second hand white t-shirt, his second hand jeans, his old scuffed dress shoes – even his nice brown leather jacket used to be Esther’s husband’s before he died and she gave it to him when she saw him shivering walking into her store… And he knows his less-than-restful nights are showing on his face.

As he looks up with dread Oliver sees Elio smiling a bright smile that makes his heart jump in a way he’s sure he’d enjoy if he were capable of feeling enjoyment in the moment.

“Hey,” Elio says lightly, immediately noting that Oliver doesn’t look any calmer than when he saw him last. “Sorry I’m a little late.”

“You are?” Oliver frowns, looking down to his wrist to check the time before blushing as he remembers that he doesn’t have his fancy heirloom watch anymore. 

“Only a few minutes,” Elio shrugs, unconcerned, before tilting his head and studying the six and a half feet of shaking blond before him as he glances anxiously at the door. “You okay?” he asks.

“Ye—Uh, yeah,” Oliver stammers, wondering if Elio is referring to the state of his tired face or the stressed expression he knows is on it, and trying to figure out what he’s supposed to do to make this work. “I just uh… I didn’t really know this place was supposed to be so fancy? And I’m not really dressed, my friend Sadie told me—” he begins, before realising that he probably shouldn’t mention that Sadie read the texts.

But Elio just pushes on in the break in his speech while he’s recalibrating.

“It’s fine, I promise,” he reassures fruitlessly. “My mom knows the owner, Mafalda’s practically my aunt – it’s not like they won’t let us in or anything like that.”

But even as he says, “Oh, okay then,” Oliver still looks like he’d rather die as he anxiously picks at his nails again.

Even if they let them in because Elio knows the owner, they’ll still stand out for dressing like they do – Oliver has been to this kind of place before, he _knows_ what they’re like, he’s going to be feeling eyes on him all night for their clothes on top of the fact that they’re already two guys obviously on a date… 

_Why isn’t Elio more dressed up, he knew where we were going?_

Elio frowns a little in his mind, though he’s careful to keep it off his face as he studies Oliver’s distress. 

“You know, we don’t have to go in if I’ve chosen the wrong place,” he begins, placating.

“Oh no, you don’t have to cancel if there’s a reserva—”

“I’m not worried about cancelling,” Elio continues with a doubtful frown. “It’s just that I want you to enjoy tonight and you kind of look like you’d rather take bamboo under the nails than walk in there.”

Predictably, Oliver looks down and blushes at being called out. 

“I—I don’t uh—”

“I’m sensing that I need to just start walking because you’re too nice to tell me the truth,” Elio says, deadpan, as he steps backwards and away from the stairs – which for once actually seems to ease his date a little. 

_Niceness has nothing to do with it,_ Oliver grumbles internally, but he forces himself to smile, allowing his relief to show on his face. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

Elio gestures for Oliver to follow and begins walking down the street into the fading sun.

“Come on,” he says, bright and eager. “I know a pretty good ice-cream place nearby.”

And then Oliver has no choice but to follow, thrown off by the mix of anxiety and relief inside of him with no time to think about either as he catches up – the kid is surprisingly fast considering their not-inconsiderable height difference.

Elio is shorter than him but his confidence makes Oliver feel so small… he’s not sure in what way yet, unsure of whether he likes it as he catches up.

Elio turns back and slows a little, eager to know more about this handsome philosophy man.

“So,” he says. “Oliver: What does Oliver do?”

_Thank god, a softball question to start with._

“Well I do construction work,” he says quickly, before considering the real purpose of such a question in the context of a date, and clarifying, “It’s only to save though – I want to study philosophy and archaeology.”

Elio waits for more on the topic, but none comes so he fills the silence. 

“Not just a hobby then… You know, I could see you as a sort of Indiana Jones type,” he declares, smiling amusedly and giving a suggestive raised brow when Oliver frowns in confusion. “Professor-of-archaeology in the streets, man-of-action in the sheets…”

Oliver doesn’t seem to be picking up what he’s putting down but he does give a nervous courtesy laugh. Elio rolls his eyes internally, immediately enamoured. 

_How is a man this big and this handsome and apparently this_ smart, _this socially inept?_

He just wants to pat his adorably gelled hair and tell him it’s all going to be okay, but he holds back the urge, immediately moving forward.

“Well, at least you know what you want to do,” he sighs dramatically. “I am adrift on a sea of possibility.”

“You don’t want to do anything with books?” Oliver asks with a tilted head, figuring it to be a safe enough question to prod further.

Elio just shrugs.

“Eh. I could do something with books, something with movies, something with music… I like all those things, but I don’t want to risk things I like getting boring because I _have_ to do them for a job, you know?”

No, Oliver doesn’t know. He doesn’t have the luxury of a choice these days… But he just gives a non-committal silent nod of understanding and hopes they’ll move on quickly. 

“Are you just big on books, or movies and tv too?” Elio asks, to which Oliver shrugs. “I am,” he says happily, content to take the lead until he feels comfortable enough to speak more freely. 

“I still buy them all on discs and everything so I can have the special features and not worry about things disappearing from streaming when I want to watch them – the collection is getting kind of unmanageable,” he laughs. “It could be worse though; leaving out horror and tragedy cuts down on a lot of build-up… I mean, where’s the escapism in that stuff, you know?”

His tone is light as he goes on talking about his list of favourites – which includes perhaps a few too many light, fairy-tale-esque movies among the critically acclaimed classics for Oliver’s tastes – but something about the way he said the part about escapism makes the older man frown in distraction as he speaks. 

Something in his tone makes him think that his taste doesn’t indicate that Elio is shallow, or uncomplicated – not at all. 

He could always be wrong, but something in him really doubts it…

For a moment he’s so absorbed in trying to figure out what it is that’s tipped him off that it’s like he forgets to be anxious, and when he realises he starts to smile a little, happy with himself… 

It comes back as they approach the ice-cream place however, when he’s suddenly once again aware that they’re two _men_ on a fairly obvious date. And his anxiety about that only makes his uncertainty about how to act around Elio return.

He tries his best as they order but the shaking of his fingers as he takes his cone and his obvious jerkiness as they stop at the door to do the awkward dance to figure out who goes first gives him away, apparently.

“You don’t have to try to act like you’re not nervous you know,” Elio says, blowing past all the polite social conventions as they continue down the street towards a park he knows is nice. “You can be yourself; I’m nervous too.”

“You _are?”_ Oliver blurts out doubtfully without thinking, immediately stuttering as he looks for a way to backtrack and make his words less rude.

But then Elio just laughs, as it seems he always does when Oliver starts to worry.

“See, that was perfect!” he exclaims, still laughing. “You don’t have to worry about putting your foot in your mouth Oliver, you won’t offend me… I guess you’re right that _nervous_ isn’t the right word though,” he concedes, licking his bright pink scoop and thinking. “I just want you to like me. So it’s more that I’m trying not to come across as an asshole, I suppose.”

He pauses and peers up at Oliver through his dark lashes, his expression all virtue and quiet curiosity.

“…Is it working?” he asks faux-coquettishly.

At that Oliver finally relaxes a little, tired from thinking too much about things Elio never seems bothered by, and taken out of his head by his growing fascination with this strange, confident, honest boy.

“I don’t think you’re an asshole,” he says quietly, watching as he nods happily.

“That’s good,” Elio says with another lick. “I don’t think you’re an asshole too.”

Oliver grins at that, finally feeling his heartrate beginning to slow to something resembling normal as he considers that with Elio helping him, he’s probably not going to die of embarrassment tonight.

Maybe they’re on the same side in this…

“Are you just a nervous person? Or do I make you nervous?” Elio asks without judgement.

Oliver blushes at the question, but considers for a moment before deciding to just tell the truth about it all – he’s going to find out eventually.

“I guess I’m a pretty nervous person,” _– nowadays –_ “And you definitely make me nervous,” he huffs softly with a small smile before finishing. “…But I guess I’m also kind of nervous because I’ve never been on a date with a guy before.”

“Oh,” Elio exclaims, indelicate in his surprise. “…You have like, _been_ with guys before though, right?”

“Yeah, I have,” Oliver says quickly, reassuring before Elio gets the wrong idea. “This isn’t… it’s not like, an experiment or something.”

Elio smiles, licking his scoop again.

“I wasn’t really worried about that. I was more just shocked that no one had asked you out yet,” he says, still grinning before looking up into Oliver’s eyes to convey his sincerity as he says his next words. “You really don’t need to worry about doing things right or making an impression, Oliver – I already like you.”

Oliver is speechless under his gaze, feeling like one of those stupid fainting goats Sadie showed him a few weeks ago. He can’t think while he’s looking into those eyes so he looks away and takes a too-big lick of his ice-cream to occupy his mouth while he figures out what to say to that. 

Elio looks down and smiles as he waits for his date to collect himself. He finds himself feeling strangely torn between wanting Oliver to be comfortable and enjoying how adorably flustered he gets when he’s uncomfortable…

It’s a confusing situation for him.

Eventually Oliver decides to go with a simple, earnest, “Thank you,” and, “I like you too.”

Elio huffs an amused little laugh at that, looking up to see Oliver’s curious expression before saying, “’I don’t think you’re an asshole’… ‘I like you too’… If it keeps going like this we’re going to be married before the end of the night.”

And at that, Oliver finally laughs – not uncomfortably, not to fill a silence he has no words for, but just because he thought what was said was funny.

Elio thinks it’s an unfairly intoxicating sound. 

He’s never really felt like that on a first date before – or any date, he thinks as he looks up at Oliver’s smiling face, studying his sharp canines and his bright blue eyes…

He definitely looks tired but somehow it doesn’t detract at all.

Finally feeling comfortable enough in the conversation to bring up his own topic, Oliver decides to delve more into Elio’s interest in tv as they walk through a well-lit park, trying not to look around to see if anyone is whispering about the two men sharing ice-cream together.

“You said you’re into movies and tv and stuff…” he begins clumsily, knowing Elio will forgive it. “I was never really big on any tv in particular, but my neighbour – Sadie – made me watch that old show, Buffy the Vampire Slayer… It’s pretty good, but she’s _obsessed_ with it,” he laughs quietly. “Have you seen it?”

“I don’t really go in for that kind of stuff,” Elio shrugs, licking his scoop to feign indifference. He knows that show got dark sometimes what with the slaying, so he’s never really checked it out.

Misreading the dismissal as a sudden rejection of the show or of him or of the topic, Oliver tries to defend himself.

“I mean it’s pretty dated, but it’s got some good moments,” he insists. “They even kill the main character, twice,” he says, hoping to make it sound like more than the punching and one liners it might seem like from Elio’s perspective.

(Though judging by the favourites he mentioned earlier, it’s probably not that he thinks the show is too frivolous or cheesy for his tastes, come to think of it.)

“That sounds horrible,” Elio laughs, though something about it rings false to Oliver. “I don’t know why people watch stuff like that – why get invested in a character if they’re just going to die and make you sad?” 

Oliver tilts his head, feeling ready to test the waters a little after Elio’s insistence that he be himself, while also showing him that he’s been paying attention.

“They killed the main character in that book you were reading when I came into the store the first time,” he points out, raising his eyebrows.

“You remember that?” Elio smiles, happy about the detail being noted, which makes Oliver happy. “I wasn’t pleased with the author for that particular artistic choice,” he laughs. “If I wanted realistic tragedy in my media I’d watch the news or read obituaries.”

Again, there’s something overly blasé in the way to says it – as though he’s trying slightly too hard to pass it off like he’s just not into it and it’s no big deal – that tips Oliver off to the idea of there being more to this than a simple preference for a lighter tone.

He just files it away to think about later though, shrugging and saying, “Fair enough,” and allowing the conversation to move on as Elio starts talking about his cat, Luna – apparently named after Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter.

…Evidently what Elio meant when he said he didn’t ‘go in for that kind of stuff’ was not that he didn’t like supernatural genres.

Oliver is more than happy to drop it all and listen to Elio talk about his cat though, his mood lifted by Elio’s excited presence in ways that are usually impossible these days without Sadie or a good book as the boy talks about how he rescued Luna from being put down when he found her, how he paid for all the surgeries she needed to be well again.

A little alarm goes off in Oliver’s head as he talks casually about the thousands and thousands of dollars the surgeries cost like it was nothing, horrified that anyone would let such a sweet cat die over something so silly as a few thousand dollars – or it might have been into the fifth digit, but who’s counting?

…Oliver. Oliver is counting. His pennies.

Elio doesn’t strike him as an animal lover exactly, and with the cat surgeries and the fancy restaurant and his ease with having no particular career in mind… an image of Elio as a very wealthy person emerges in his mind.

No wonder he was so unconcerned about delivering good service.

Oliver finds himself getting tense about it all again very quickly, imagining how Elio will react when he finds out how far he’s fallen from how he used to live, wondering whether he’ll judge him, whether he’ll be impressed that he landed on his feet, whether he’ll think anything about it at all…

His thoughts are only interrupted when he looks aside to see if Elio has noticed his silence and sees clearly through the undone top buttons of his shirt, the top of a long, clean, raised scar running straight down the middle of his chest; faded and surgical but still clearly visible.

Oliver finds himself staring in fascination, turning his face away and blushing furiously in embarrassment when Elio turns his head and catches him looking.

The boy looks down and sees what Oliver was staring at, smiling forgivingly up at him as he looks back to see his reaction.

“It’s fine,” he says overtly projecting kindness, nudging Oliver with his shoulder. “You can look, it doesn’t bother me.”

Oliver looks down again momentarily but immediately looks back up, still feeling guilty despite Elio’s reassurances. 

“Sorry, I’ve just never noticed before,” he explains sheepishly.

“How could you?” Elio asks, shrugging. “It’s hidden most of the time – it’s really not a big deal.”

Oliver isn’t entirely convinced, but his curiosity gets the better of him as he speaks hesitantly.

“…Can I ask where it’s from?”

“Where? Some impressive hospital,” he says, a little too lightly, the joke slightly forced. “It’s just from a thing that happened when I was a kid.”

His dismissive tone tells Oliver that this part of the conversation is over, but he’s just a little too casual about it… The scar just seems too deep and important to be so easily brushed off.

For the third time tonight, it seems subtly clear to Oliver that Elio is downplaying something to get away from the topic without having to explain himself. Most people probably wouldn’t really notice when talking to him but Oliver feels strangely attuned to the boy’s feelings, with how honest he’s been otherwise.

He tries to keep Sadie’s joking words about Elio being his soulmate out of his head at the thought of being ‘attuned’ to Elio’s anything as a topic is once again dropped, and another picked up.

They get some street food for their missed dinner and move through the rest of the evening getting to know each other in the way most people on a first date do, feeling out each other’s hobbies and interests to see if there’s more there… though truly Oliver has known he wanted a second date since Elio told him he knew he was nervous.

Regardless of any hobbies or interests they do or do not share, he just… likes Elio. 

He just wants to know him, wants to learn about the parts of him that he already believes are there, only hidden…

He’s _almost_ comfortable with Elio by the end of the night – he’s convinced he’s going to be a disaster with strangers forever, but Oliver could see himself becoming as comfortable with Elio as he is with Sadie, in time. 

Once they’ve begun heading back towards the restaurant Elio asks for a moment to text his parents and let them know he’s okay. It strikes Oliver as odd considering how independent and confident Elio has seemed, but he just makes a gesture as if to say _’go ahead’_ , and waits while they walk. 

_Who am I to think anything about someone depending on someone or doing things too late? I’m on my first_ real _date at twenty-one, and if it weren’t for Sadie I would have just never gone back to the bookstore and hidden away with a book again tonight._

 _I never needed to tell_ my _parents where I was, but I guess I’ve learned that my relationship with them wasn’t exactly an unbreakable bond of love and warmth…_

“Sorry about that,” Elio says easily when he’s done. “I told them I was going out with someone new tonight, so I knew they would worry if I didn’t let them know it was all okay before nine.”

Oliver just shrugs, saying, “It’s okay,” and then, “You’re close with them then?”

“Oh yeah,” Elio smiles with clear affection. “My parents are awesome – I don’t live with them, but we still go on holidays together and stuff and I still go over for dinner most weeks to catch up… Are you close with yours?”

Oliver’s lips press together at the question as he looks down slightly and shakes his head.

“Not really,” he replies, trying to downplay it.

“No?” Elio says, assessing his demeanour in silence.

At first Oliver thinks with dread that he’s going to prod further and force him to reveal, either by answering his questions or by _not_ answering them, that something bad has happened; that he comes with some kind of off-putting _baggage…_

But Elio seems to see that whatever it is, now is not the time to get further into it, letting it go and moving on in the same way he moved on from the topics he seemed to dance around.

It all goes more than smoothly from there, and he begins to feel like he knows Elio and Elio knows him as they talk, but he feels his jitteriness beginning to tick back up again towards the end of the night – when they get to the part where they need to decide when and whether to meet again, whether to hug or kiss, how to part, how to get home…

But as always, he has nothing to worry about – Elio seems to see that he needs to take control again here.

“You know Oliver… you’re a pretty great date once you’re able to speak in full sentences,” he jokes after hailing a taxi for him, and at least in that moment Oliver finds that he’s able to believe that the words don’t have to be taken the worst way possible, because it’s more than likely that Elio doesn’t mean to demean him.

“Thanks,” he says with a shy smile. “I usually talk in full sentences around people I know well, I promise.”

“Well,” Elio says as he opens the door. “That’s good. I’d love to look into becoming one of those, if you like the idea.”

Oliver gives the tiniest frown as he enters the taxi.

“One of what?” he asks.

“A person you know well,” Elio clarifies as he winds down the window and shuts the door, with a grin like he already knows the answer to his request.

At that Oliver smiles properly, looking down, completely unable to control the muscles of his face even if he looks like an idiot.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he finally says, looking up through the open window.

“Good,” Elio says with a shit-eating grin as he passes a hundred dollar bill to the driver, ignoring Oliver’s weak objections. “I’ll text you – try not to strain your fingers with your fossil-phone keys.”

“Hey, my phone is _perfectly_ adequate to—” Oliver begins to protest, but Elio has leaned in to peck his cheek, tapped the roof of the car, and sent him on his way before he can finish his sentence.

“Put on your seatbelt!” Elio calls as the car drives away, waving and grinning. 

Oliver feels like a silly high school girl as he does as Elio said, brings a hand to where he kissed him, and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! I'll try to get the next chapter out faster - I'm really excited to write the more angsty bits once the relationship is established 🤓
> 
> Please leave me a comment and let me know what you thought/what you'd like to see! ❤️❤️ (Or if you're more of a tumblr interaction person, send me something at [jeffersonhairpin](https://jeffersonhairpin.tumblr.com) \- I'd love to talk to other people who love cmbyn 😊)
> 
> Side note post-publishing: Next chapter will be at least one day behind schedule because I told my boss I couldn't come in because I had a sniffle basically and wanted to do the right thing and they told me I had to get tested for COVID and I did and the swab went so far up my nose I have a headache that I sense won't go away until I've had a long nap down and some good Indian food, so today is forfeit lol 😓😓😓


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio comes over to Oliver's apartment for the first time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How is everyone? I hope you're able to stay safe if you're protesting, wherever you are ❤️ 
> 
> I liked writing this one, I hope you like reading it 😊

Elio is true to his word, sending Oliver a goodnight and a good morning message, and then striking up conversations at random whenever a thought crosses his mind over the next few days. 

Oliver finds that the more he gets to know the way Elio sees things the less nervous he is to see him again. Not that he won’t be nervous at _all…_

It’s when the store gets a few new volumes on some old timey stuff that Elio decides to move things forward again, telling Oliver to come in after work on Friday.

He spends the whole afternoon fiddling uselessly and watching the door, awaiting Oliver’s arrival like a child waits for his parent to come home with the shiny new toy they promised.

He’s even more distracted and talkative than usual, but Oliver is _exciting_ and _new_ to him okay?

When the bell at the door rings ten minutes before close Elio is dejectedly making patterns in some dust on the counter he was too distracted to clean away today, having resigned himself to the fact that Oliver probably isn’t coming, and trying to come up with a list of reasons why that don’t make him sad.

He doesn’t look up when the person enters, just calls out, “Hey, you’re good to look but we’re closing in ten,” still pushing dust around unhappily.

But the person doesn’t move to look in the stacks, they start walking over.

“Hey sorry it’s so late, things got kind of held up at the site,” a voice says in front of him. A deep, warm voice that makes Elio’s head shoot up, his pout disappearing and a beaming smile replacing it.

“Oliver!” he exclaims, jumping up happily. “You’re here!”

“Yeah, sorry about—”

“Don’t be sorry!” he insists, moving around the counter to give Oliver a hug. 

He clearly doesn’t expect it, but he doesn’t completely freeze either, so Elio decides to call it progress and move on – he likes how Oliver smells when he’s been sweating and shovelling dirt all day… 

At least he imagines that’s what he does, he has no idea what construction actually involves.

“I wanted to show you the new classics books we got in but there are like fifteen of them, so we don’t really have time now,” he explains before deciding to take a risk in hopes of spending more time together. “Can I come to your place though, so we can still hang out?”

A look of panic crosses Oliver’s face then, before he can hide it effectively. 

Retreating, Elio holds up his hands and says quickly, “Hey, it’s okay if you don’t want me over yet, I just thought I’d ask.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you there,” Oliver begins truthfully, but he can’t seem to think of what to say that it is stopping him. Finally he settles on, “It’s just that my place is a mess right now, and…”

The tips of his ears go red as he looks down – an obvious give away.

_Dammit._

“Never play poker,” Elio says, deadpan, with a forgiving smile. 

The words make Oliver a little bit sad, because he used to be pretty good at poker before everything went to shit, and he’s genuinely not sure if he’d be any good at it with how things are now…

He swallows that down and files it away for later, choosing to be honest with Elio since he’s time and time again proven himself incapable of lying to him… Elio’s always been kind, if not gentle, with the truth anyway.

“My place is… I don’t know, kind of small, and a bit empty, and… I don’t have a lot to spare to make it nicer to be in, I guess,” he shrugs, looking down to avoid seeing Elio’s reaction. “I don’t want you to think it’s like, crappy, or whatever.”

Elio smiles at that, though he knows Oliver can’t see. He’s so sweet when he gets all shy like this, and as much as he doesn’t want Oliver to think he’d care about that… he likes that Oliver wants him to like his place. 

He tries to catch his eye, but he seems determined not to look up so Elio flicks his ear lightly instead, making him jump and look up.

“I don’t care what it looks like,” Elio insists. “I just want to hang out with you at your place. I’ll pay for delivery and everything.”

Oliver is just about to protest that he can cook something and not to worry about delivery, but… he can’t. Well, he can _cook,_ but he can’t cook with the no-ingredients in his fridge. 

And Elio is probably used to better food than what he can cook anyway.

Instead he just gives an awkward laugh and says, “Finally gonna get to see how the other half lives?” rubbing the back of his neck.

Elio tilts his head at that, interested.

“How did you know?” he asks. “I mean, I don’t exactly hide it, but how did you know my parents have money?”

Oliver isn’t about to say that he recognises a lot of Elio’s more callous attitudes from when he had them himself, but he can tell him the other half of how.

“Well, the restaurant had a valet and you were going to pay for two meals there, and the way you talked about your cat’s surgeries like they were nothing was kind of a dead giveaway… mostly those things.”

“Huh,” Elio muses, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I guess it’s kind of obvious,” he laughs easily, quelling Oliver’s discomfort.

“It kind of is,” Oliver laughs shyly as Elio walks back around the counter to collect his nice new winter jacket – which he realises as he picks it up is probably also something of a giveaway for his financial status.

“Alright, lead the way,” he says brightly, gesturing for Oliver to head for the door first.

Oliver frowns at that, looking up in confusion at the clock which reads 4:23pm.

“Don’t you still have seven minutes before you’re supposed to close?” he asks uncertainly.

Elio just shrugs.

“I mean technically, but it’s fine; Kevin will never know.”

“Kevin is your boss?”

“Yeah – all the cameras are fake so he doesn’t know anything that goes on unless he’s actually here… but don’t tell anyone I told you that,” Elio laughs easily, walking towards the door and reaching into his pocket for his keys.

Oliver says nothing about how absurd he finds Elio’s lack of concern about his job – it’s a _good job_ too, in Oliver’s opinion. Instead, he just files out after him and watches him lock the doors… at least he cares enough to do that properly.

 _Maybe if Elio gets fired I can take his shifts,_ he thinks amusedly, hiding his smile carefully as they turn onto the street.

They talk idly about their days as they walk towards Oliver’s place which helps him to find his comfort with Elio again, only stopping when Elio decides he wants to pick up a snack to eat when they get there. It surprises Oliver that he chooses a packet of weird healthy vegetable chips – he would have pegged him as more of a sour-gummies, Cheetos, Reese’s cups, chocolate _and_ Doritos kind of guy in this situation. 

Not everything he learns about Elio seems to add up with the way he often presents himself, and all it does is make him want to learn more…

His hands shake ever so slightly as he turns his key at his front door, a little embarrassed to only have one key on his ring. He’s allowed himself to be interested, and somewhat invested in Elio over the last week… he really doesn’t want this to be where Elio’s interest in him fades.

Sadie audibly raises a brow in his head at the thought, insisting, _Oliver, if he cares about how much money you have, he’s not the person you thought you were interested in anyway. Isn’t that exactly the kind of attitude you decided you were done with?_

Though he knows a part of him still holds onto the dream of one day having all the things his parents taught him meant status and going back to throw it in their faces, Oliver silently concedes her point and turns the handle, opening the door to his tiny, bare apartment.

Elio is excited to see the inside, eagerly leaning so his head enters before his body as he looks around. He’d thrown his expectations out the window when Oliver told him the place wasn’t a lot, but even so he’s still a little bit surprised.

Surely Oliver can afford more, as a construction worker? The money for that is pretty good compared to some things, isn’t it?

It’s a little bit depressing. 

Well, it’s not really, he corrects himself. It would be depressing for _him_ to live in, but he can see Oliver being cosy here – there’s a ratty old bookshelf holding more books than Elio thinks he’s ever read, a mid-sized TV, a dirty coffee cup on a small, chipped coffee table, a couch that looks old but well-loved and comfortable, a thick, warm blanket draped over said couch…

Everything that he’s been able to gather is important to Oliver has been paid attention enough to be homey at least.

It’s certainly clean, definitely not neglected…

There are even a few fairy lights draped over the bookshelf now that he sees them, and candles placed randomly about the place… though Elio would guess Oliver’s neighbour put them there from what he’s heard about her in their texts.

“It’s… cosy,” Elio finally settles on after a moment, his tone open and honest. He’s glad he reserved his judgement until he could assess the place properly and decide that it was, in fact, cosy.

Oliver hears Elio’s non-judgemental tone, but it doesn’t matter in his mind because _he’s_ judging himself in that moment. The place is enough for him when he’s alone, but surely he should have put in some kind of effort to make it presentable; he’s been here a _year._

“Sorry, it’s really not much,” he says bashfully, rubbing his neck again. “It’s okay when it’s just me I guess, but I could probably stand to do something more with it for when other people are around,” he sighs, glossing over the fact that the only other person who might be around is Sadie.

Elio disagrees though, not having Oliver’s self-flagellating tone.

“Your space is for you,” he asserts. “If this is all you need to be happy you shouldn’t have to change it to make other people happy. My place probably wouldn’t make you happy to live in,” he laughs. 

Oliver hesitates a moment before speaking as though it’s too good to be true.

“You… really don’t think it’s terrible?” he asks doubtfully, failing to keep the hint of hope out of his voice.

“Nope,” Elio declares, making himself at home as he places his bag of chips and his coat on the kitchen bench, grabbing the only pillow on the couch and plopping himself down – ‘plopping’ is really the only word for it. 

“Well…” Oliver says, feeling relieved, but also suddenly awkward. 

The moment he was afraid of has passed, and the thing he was afraid of didn’t happen… what now?

Elio saves him from himself by asking for his laptop and a HDMI cord – thankfully Oliver was able to take his laptop with him when he went, and Sadie gifted him a HDMI cord when she got sick of having to go back for hers when she visited.

_‘Christ Oliver, will you fucking watch some TV or something once in a while! I’m so sick of having silence on one side of my apartment and obnoxious fucking on the other…’_

“Are you sure you want to save you password?” Oliver asks, unsure if Elio meant to or not.

“Yeah,” Elio shrugs. “You don’t have an account, do you?”

“No, but—”

“Well, if I decide your Netflix habit is starting to interfere with your studies, I can just sign out all devices,” he shrugs again, grinning impishly as he scrolls through, cross-legged on the floor. 

“What are you in the mood for?” he finally asks. “I’m thinking something tried, true, and ignorable, ‘cause I wanna interrupt it to talk to you.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Oliver agrees, picking some dirt out from under his nails halfway between the kitchen and the living room, unsure of what to do with himself.

Is he too far away from Elio? Would it be weird if he suddenly came closer?

Does he get comfortable on the couch? Turn on the fairy lights? Put Elio’s chips in a bowl? 

Fuck, does he have a chip bowl?

Elio saves him as he continues to scroll, suggesting, “Why don’t you light the candles? I’m a strong advocate for mood lighting,” he smiles to himself, eyes not lifting from the screen.

It occurs to Oliver in that moment that Elio doesn’t really think in terms of what _‘people do’_. He just thinks in terms of what he wants to do, what would be fun to do…

It’s nice, and scary. 

Nice because there don’t seem to be rules with him, but scary because there _don’t seem to be rules with him._

Oliver doesn’t reply, just does as Elio suggests, lighting Sadie’s candles and turning on the fairy lights, turning off the ceiling lights to reveal the softening effect. 

“This place looks pretty nice like this… cosy, like I said,” Elio comments as he stands having chosen his show – comments forgivingly, Oliver thinks.

Hoping to ease himself with some social lubricant, Oliver heads to the kitchen to follow the routine he and Sadie usually do – TV and wine.

“Thanks,” he says, his muscles remembering the familiar movements that lead him to the cupboard with the wine and the pretzels Sadie keeps there. “Wine?” he asks as he holds it up, hoping the eagerness in his voice goes over Elio’s head.

“No thanks,” Elio says automatically, afterwards looking ever-so-slightly uncertain for the first time since Oliver has known him.

“Oh,” Oliver says dumbly, feeling caught in a suddenly _negative_ situation. 

_Do I put it back? Am I not supposed to because he isn’t going to? Is it because he’s not twenty-one, or…? Does it look bad that I suggested it? It’s Friday?_

“Yeah, I don’t usually really…” Elio trails off, looking to the side in consideration.

_I shouldn’t think this – he’s the one taking the lead in all of this even though I’m older, and bigger, and by rights I should be taking the fucking—_

_…But is he too young for me? I mean, his lighter perspective is nice, but is he too…?_

Oliver immediately berates himself for thinking such things, for even coming close to judging someone for something like that. Just because it’s the way he and Sadie choose to spend so much of their time together doesn’t mean anyone _needs_ to in order to be an adult – God knows Oliver wasn’t anything like an adult when he did most of his partying, what a stupid thing to think about someone ov—

“Actually, I will,” Elio says after what feels like a long moment of thought for both of them.

“Are you sure?” Oliver asks, feeling bad. “You don’t have to, just because I brought it ou—”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Elio smiles. “Like I said, I don’t usually – but if I’m going to make an exception this seems like a good one.”

The apartment is a little bit uncomfortably silent as Oliver pours, with even Elio feeling a little bit off for the first time in their time spent together. Only Elio’s show in the background keeps it from being painfully awkward for Oliver.

“Sorry I don’t have any actual wine glasses,” he says sheepishly as he brings the cups over. “Usually Sadie and I use her mom’s old crystal glasses.”

“It’s okay,” Elio smiles. “You and Sadie are really close, huh?” he asks, taking the cup and taking a sip.

But before Oliver can answer Elio’s face scrunches up and he spits the wine back into the cup.

“Jesus Christ!” he yelps. “Oliver I think this has gone bad. Was it still sealed when you opened it?”

Frowning, Oliver takes a sip himself to investigate.

A slow smile begins on his face as he realises what’s happened.

“Have you ever had cheap wine?” Oliver laughs to himself, the tension of a few moments ago suddenly dissipated. 

“What?” Elio asks, confused before he thinks. “…I mean, I guess not, but surely it’s not _that_ different?”

“Welcome to the other half,” Oliver says, still laughing as he takes another long sip. 

But Elio isn’t having it. 

“No, no,” he insists, beginning to laugh himself as he takes the cup right out of Oliver’s hands mid-sip and places it at the base of the couch. “We are not drinking this _swill._ If I’m drinking it’s not going to be this.”

Oliver doesn’t argue as Elio stands and lifts a finger to say ‘one second’ before he makes a quiet phone call in the corner, he merely raises his hands in surrender. He does stand and take the cups to the sink, quickly draining his own before pouring Elio’s down the sink – there wasn’t much in it in the first place, and things have been going better than he expected in many ways but he can still use all the help he can get tonight.

He’s back on the couch watching Elio’s show when he’s done, confused.

“I knew this was a thing,” he says as he gestures to the TV, feeling braver for the wine. “But I’ve never really actually watched any animation aimed at adults… It’s kind of weird every time they swear.”

“Welcome to the new age, archaeology nerd,” Elio laughs, sitting down close to Oliver on the couch and knock his shoulder against the older man’s. 

“…Is this okay?” he asks quietly, still smiling, but in a way Oliver can only describe as… tender?

Oliver feels intoxicated by Elio’s closeness, so much more than by the tiny glass of wine. He can’t find his words in the moment, so he just nods his yes, smiling gently back.

The moment might have gone on, or turned into something nice, but then one of the characters on screen drops a bowl and it spins, and it spins, and it spins for what feels like three minutes before it stills.

And at that they both break into a laugh, the tension eased in the room once again.

Oliver isn’t sure if the show is entirely to his taste, but he watches happily as Elio slowly inches closer until he’s leaning against his side, pulling his arm up and around his own shoulders and smiling up like a misbehaving child when Oliver looks down.

Time passes with ease Oliver didn’t know he was still capable of feeling until the doorbell rings and Elio leaps up, practically skipping to the door to open it.

And in come two men dressed like waiters in a fancy restaurant, one holding two bags of food and the other holding two bottles of wine and two glasses. They’re in and out in two seconds, not giving Oliver a chance to say anything before Elio is thanking them by name with ease and familiarity and closing the door.

“Ta-daa,” Elio sings. “No need for a fancy restaurant with a valet if you can bring the food to you – which I can even though the public cannot, because Mafalda loves me,” he boasts, clearly pleased with himself. 

Oliver’s mouth waters at the smell as he stands – he’s not been around anything that could rightfully be considered _‘cuisine’_ in over a year.

“Oh my god,” he moans, burying his face in the bag to inhale and having no qualms about showing his appreciation when Elio has gone to this effort. “This smells amazing.”

“She’s good at what she does,” Elio agrees, proud of his aunt. Then he thinks and shrugs, “Or, she’s good at what yells at other people to do, nowadays.”

He’s content to just enjoy Oliver’s enjoyment in the moment.

He’s been nervous for most of the time they’ve spent together yes, and that’s affected Elio’s ability to get a sense of who he is underneath, but something about Oliver has always struck him as a little bit sad, in a quiet way… 

He doesn’t want Oliver to feel like that, so if getting some nice food delivered to eat in the privacy of his cosy apartment and showing him the wonders of _good_ wine for possibly the first time in his twenty-one years is all it takes…

It’s not a big ask for someone like Elio.

Elio smiles as he piles the food onto plates Oliver produces from his cupboards and delivers it to the floor in front of the TV with cutlery, while Oliver brings over a bottle of the wine and the glasses.

“It feels strange to be eating such fancy food here, watching cartoons,” Oliver muses as he takes his first bite, sitting cross-legged to match Elio’s demeanour.

“Adult-animation,” Elio corrects around a mouthful, grinning with sauce on his lips as Oliver rolls his eyes, taking a sip.

His eyes roll back into his head as the wine hits his tongue though, the expression dropping from enduring to undone in a millisecond.

“Oh my god, I haven’t had wine this good in so long,” he groans, swirling the glass and taking another sip immediately. “The kind it’s actually worth having glasses the right shape for,” he laughs.

Elio raises a brow, filing away that Oliver has in fact had good wine before, and has a reasonable education on the subject, wondering whether he lost a job or lost… something else, in order to lose his access to it.

He did say he doesn’t have a good relationship with his parents…

But, “I’m glad your palette is refined enough to appreciate it,” is all Elio says, jokingly smug as he nods with a smile. “Or I might’ve had to sign you up for a delivery subscription to show you that your wine is undrinkable.”

“Go ahead,” Oliver snorts, taking another bite – seeming to think such a thing so ridiculous that Elio won’t do it even if he agrees.

 _Well, I look forward to a surprised phone call when a box shows up on his doorstep in a week,_ Elio thinks to himself as he pulls out his phone and types in the right search terms as Oliver watches the show. 

It’s honestly nothing to him – he won’t even notice it leaving his account – but he knows having a different few bottles delivered for him to try every week will probably leave Oliver overwhelmed at the ‘gesture’… It’s interesting to be spending time with someone whose stakes are so entirely different to his own.

About halfway through their bounty Elio gets impatient and decides it’s time for him to get some answers to his questions about Oliver’s past.

“So you don’t get along with your parents,” he begins, keeping his tone light and taking another bite before speaking with his mouth full. “What about the rest of your family, do you have siblings?”

Oliver seems to choke a little at that, not expecting the topic.

“I do,” he says when he recovers, in a tone Elio can’t quite read. “I have a brother and a sister; he’s older by five years, she’s younger…” And then wistfully, like it’s occurring to him for the first time, “She’ll be graduating this year.”

“You don’t talk to them anymore?” Elio asks, trying to match Oliver’s seriousness without things getting _too_ heavy.

Oliver just shakes his head, looking down. 

“No. Brandon and I never really liked each other in the first place, but my dad told April if she kept talking to me she wouldn’t get her inheritance… We used to be close.”

Elio raises his eyebrows in sadness and shock at that – what was Oliver’s terrible crime for his father to do something like that?

“I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay,” Oliver says, trying to smile, though with little success. “I understand why she didn’t fight him on it. It’s a lot of money, and with my cut of the pool gone it’s even more… she can do things with it. She’s smart, you know? Smarter than me…”

“You’re smart,” Elio says, trying to lift Oliver’s spirits, nudging his shoulder. 

“Didn’t say I wasn’t,” Oliver replies, finally smiling again; with pride Elio suspects is for his sister rather than for himself. “She’s just smarter,” he says with a shrug. “I don’t know if the rest of the world or my parents really know that though…”

“They sound like idiots,” Elio decides, allowing his disdain for them to ring clear in his tone.

Some people are very much of the opinion that no matter how badly they talk about their parents, nobody else can… but Oliver is evidently not one of those people.

“I think they’re fucking crazy backwards religious assholes with more money than sense, or decency. But idiots is shorter,” Oliver agrees, glad that Elio hasn’t made him spell out exactly what happened as he drains his glass and pours another, topping Elio’s up.

As Oliver begins to move with a little more confidence Elio can’t decide if it’s the wine or the fact that he’s in his own space that’s soothing his anxiety, but either way he’s just happy to get to see him loosen up. 

“You act differently when you’re in your own space,” Elio observes with a tinge of admiration, in his tone and in his eyes. 

“This is how I used to act all the time,” Oliver sighs before correcting himself as he leans back against the sofa. “Well, I was never this myself, I suppose.”

“What changed?” Elio asks.

Oliver thinks.

“Everything.”

“But now you’re more yourself – at least with me? And with Sadie?”

Oliver frowns a little. “I suppose,” he says.

“Silver lining,” Elio shrugs, smiling coaxingly. 

Oliver smiles back, but he knows it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. 

He’s really not ready to be in a ‘silver lining’ kind of place with what happened. Maybe he has truer friendship now, and he’s not in fear of his father discovering his secret every day, and maybe one day when he’s gotten his degree and written his book and hopefully become a professor he’ll be glad he did it on his own…

But he didn’t choose to take a stand for who he truly was to end up here. He didn’t choose to tell his parents he liked men and take the consequences. He didn’t choose to lose his asshole friends or his sister… 

None of this was something he chose, and he’d go back to having the means to begin the rest of his life right now in a heartbeat.

He’s sure Elio will never understand that with how supportive his parents seem to be though… So he says nothing.

Seeming to realise that he can’t find out anything more about Oliver in this area without things getting too emotional for a second date – no matter how comfortable he feels with him so quickly – Elio decides to move on, asking Oliver if he has any other friends he spends time with.

“Not really,” Oliver shrugs, seeming unbothered. “What about you? Do you have a ginger hippie who drags you out to bars once a month so you don’t become an actual hermit?”

Elio laughs at that, swirling his wine and taking a sip.

“I’ve got about a million friends,” he says easily with a gesture. 

“You seem like the type to pick people up wherever you go,” Oliver agrees, nodding. “Any special ones though?”

“I had two best friends when I was a kid, but—” Elio seems to cut himself off, swallowing and taking another sip before shrugging and continuing. “I’ve got Marzia now, but she lives in Italy so I don’t see her often – we talk a lot on the phone,” Elio says, breezing past his pause and asking what specifically Oliver wants to study.

Oliver does notice, but allows the conversation to flow – he’s in too good a mood for anything heavy.

Elio has never heard of Heraclitus before, but the way Oliver describes his ideas, now that he’s looser, is beautiful. Elio thinks the world will be a better place once he’s gotten himself to university and written his book…

When he suggests that Oliver just goes to university and pays for it later he gives him a doubtful look.

“I don’t know… I’m scared to be in that much debt, everything is so uncertain…”

“I mean, if things go totally wrong you can just file for bankruptcy and start again,” Elio says like it’s nothing with a joking smile, like the whole thing is a joke to him – and it kind of is. 

Money is more of a concept than an object to him. 

Oliver knows what it’s like to see it that way, so he doesn’t get upset, but he doesn’t stop himself from scoffing either.

“No I can’t,” he laughs. “Student debt can’t be forgiven, or discharged. It never goes away once you have it.”

Elio’s eyes widen appropriately at that. 

“Seriously?” he asks, making Oliver laugh with his shock.

“Seriously.”

Elio seems so smart and worldly about some things, but others… Oliver chooses to find it endearing.

“That’s crazy,” Elio murmurs, and Oliver is inclined to agree.

He still gets the sense that while Elio is shocked by this new information, he doesn’t really believe that Oliver has anything real holding him back. Something searching in his eyes tells Oliver he’s still just thinking of easy ways he could get around it if he just believes in himself or something.

“My turn,” Oliver says finally, suddenly curious as he sits up straighter. Elio nods and smiles, excited that Oliver wants to know something about him. “What would you do if you actually _had_ to work for money – working at a bookshop a few days a week doesn’t count.”

Elio hums for a moment at that, thinking. He’s thought about it a little before, but never seriously, and he wants to give a good, realistic answer for practical Oliver Lachman. 

“Probably a translator,” he decides with confidence after a few moments, taking a sip from his glass in satisfaction with his answer.

“What?” Oliver asks with a laugh – knowing what he knows about Elio he assumes that this is more of an, _‘I could if I wanted to’_ situation than a practical reality. “Why a translator? How many languages do you speak?” 

“…Three?” Elio says like a question, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“…Which three?” Oliver asks as his disbelief melts into pleasant surprise, though he’s also half expecting Elio to say something like _‘English, bitch, and sarcasm’_ ; Sadie’s shown him the meme.

Which leaves him in plain surprise when Elio leaves his brow raised and says, “…English, Italian, and French?”

“Seriously?” Oliver asks dumbly, guilt and excitement crossing his face as he blushes.

Elio laughs at being underestimated and at the usual sweetness of Oliver’s blush.

 _“Oui_ – or _Sì_. My mom grew up in France and Italy and we spend the summer there every year. I grew up speaking with native speakers, so I think I’d be a _very good_ translator, thank you very much,” he declares, very pleased with himself.

“I didn’t realise,” Oliver says sheepishly, hiding his burning face behind his glass as Elio laughs, taking a sip himself.

It’s as Elio begins telling stories of funny phrases people have asked him to translate and of people not expecting him to speak any language other than English, that Oliver notices that one of Elio’s braided bracelets has a metal part in the middle with a medical emblem and something engraved on it. 

He’s just about to try to read it when Elio makes a gesture with his hand that snaps him out of it. Berating himself for trying to read something that could be so personal Oliver forces himself to listen properly again, eventually forgetting about it as he laughs with Elio about rude Italians thinking he doesn’t understand them at the deli near his apartment.

Oliver only half watches the show as they talk into the night, but by the time Elio is yawning beside him and the bottle of wine is two-thirds gone, he thinks he might watch some more of it when he needs to laugh in the future.

God knows he could stand to laugh more when he’s not around Sadie…

“Soo,” Elio says, pulling Oliver from his little thought spiral. “Am I staying here?”

Oliver’s mind immediately goes again to how Elio doesn’t think in terms of anything other than what he wants to do – Oliver isn’t a good guide for this, is the second meetup too early for Elio to stay the night? What are they going to… _do?_ Is Oliver supposed to have condoms? Is it embarrassing that he doesn’t have them?

“Woah, chill,” Elio says suddenly, stopping yet another spiral. “I swear I could _hear_ your thoughts just then. I don’t have to stay, and we don’t have to do anything if I do – I’m down with cuddling… I’m just tired, but I don’t want to go home yet.”

Too tired to fight Elio’s reassurance – and with a part of his brain asking him why he would _want_ to do that – Oliver relaxes, releasing tension in shoulders he barely noticed tensing up.

Letting out a breath Oliver turns to Elio and says, simply, “I’d like it if you stayed.”

“I’m glad,” Elio says with a soft smile – in a pattern Oliver is beginning to recognise. 

He often states explicitly, exactly how he feels after Oliver shows signs of freaking out, as though consciously leaving no room for doubt about how he might be intending to show that he feels…

It makes something warm burrow into Oliver’s chest, as Elio opens his phone to message someone – Oliver assumes his parents to tell them where he’s staying because of when he texted them on their date. 

But then a car pulls up outside and Elio says he’ll be right back.

He comes back in with a bag packed with what Oliver assumes are a changes of clothes, his phone charger, and his tooth brush. He laughs at the ridiculousness of having such things dropped off for one night, which makes Elio smile.

Elio goes to the bathroom and gets changed there, and in the meantime Oliver figures he should busy himself getting into his sleep clothes too.

When Elio emerges in the softest, silkiest pyjamas Oliver has ever seen, wearing fluffy slippers and putting in what Oliver assumes is his retainer, he can’t help but laugh again.

“You look so…” he trails off, trying to find the word.

“Alluring?” Elio hazards with a suggestive grin and a raise of his brows. “Sexy? Glamorous?”

“Snuggly,” Oliver decides with another laugh, tired and still a little tipsy.

“Well, I do plan on snuggling,” he concedes.

Elio doesn't want to risk getting sick and it's a little too cold in Oliver's apartment to go without a shirt or pyjama pants, but his choice to look so 'snuggly' isn't entirely practical... As much as he's attracted to Oliver and he wouldn't have minded making out with him between conversations and he wouldn't have minded making out with him in bed until it led to something more... 

He's sure he needs to take it a least a little bit slow with Oliver. And for once, he finds himself willing to wait for someone to be ready for him instead of just moving onto the next new thing... It's unusual, the way he feels about Oliver. 

Turning off the TV as if he does it here every day, Elio turns to explore Oliver’s bedroom as the older man cleans his teeth.

The room is sparse like the rest of the house, but there are a few more personal things in here – there’s even a picture of a younger Oliver and a smiling little blonde girl Elio assumes is April pinned to the closet door. 

Smiling at the sweetness of their young faces, Elio takes a picture and plugs in his phone on the side without Oliver’s ancient phone’s charger, and sits on top of the covers scrolling until he comes in. 

It’s a little awkward at first when Oliver starts get under the covers, as he clearly doesn’t know what to do with himself, but Elio refuses to let it stay that way. He turns on his quiet sleep playlist and sets his alarm so he can take his meds, and then he leans over to figure out how to turn off the lamp on his side.

But then Oliver stops him.

“No,” he says with something like dread in his voice, but also humour in there somewhere.

He claps twice, and both of the lamps turn off.

There’s silence in the room but for the quiet music as Elio realises what’s happened.

“…You have clappers?” he asks with barely veiled glee, covering his mouth to muffle his laughter.

“I have clappers,” Oliver sighs, shuffling forward a little to get closer to Elio.

“Sadie?”

“Sadie.”

Elio scoots back a little further until his back is to Oliver’s front, pulling his arms around him to leave no room for confusion about what he wants.

“Is this okay?” he asks again, echoing his words when he sidled up closer to Oliver earlier in the night. 

“Yeah,” Oliver says, but his body doesn’t quite relax. Elio feels ready to sleep himself, but something is obviously not right when nothing has changed after a few minutes.

“You know what,” he sighs, removing Oliver’s arm from around him and turning to face him. “Turn around,” he orders, pleased when Oliver does as he says without questioning.

Before he can protest Elio puts his arm around Oliver’s waist and pulls him closer. 

“You are a little spoon,” Elio declares with a soft, sleepy smile as he feels Oliver’s body finally relax under his confident hold.

“I’ve never been allowed to be before,” Oliver admits, trying to keep how strangely touched he is out of his voice, how safe he feels being held instead of doing the holding…

“Well you’re allowed now,” Elio murmurs, yawning before falling gently into sleep.

Oliver smiles.

It’s a little weird to have Elio in his bed so soon – to have another man in his bed for nothing other than sleeping, maybe some cuddling… 

It’s nice.

It’s a little scary, because it’s new. 

But it’s nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are beginning to move along :') still not sure what I've got planned between now and the later scenes I've imagined, but we'll see
> 
> (I posted this, deleted it and then reposted because I was sick of my work showing up halfway down the updates page, under works I know for a fact updated ages before me sigh, hopefully this fixes it)
> 
> (It didn't. This is so frustrating, I feel like I'm putting in so much effort and so many people aren't seeing it unless they've bookmarked it or subscribed... Maybe if I upload after midnight or something, I don't know.)
> 
> Please leave me a comment, they add years to my life ❤️😊


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio tells Oliver about his condition and they visit a pet shop...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight y'all, not a lot to say about this one. Currently posting from my new tall af desk that makes me feel professional and productive so hopefully that keeps up :')
> 
> (The heart transplant stuff is like, _based_ on real medicine, but it’s not 100% accurate... I needed angst 💁)
> 
> Hope you like it!

Oliver wakes up alone to the sound of an alarm blasting in his ear.

He doesn’t have work today, why is there an alarm going off?

“Shit, sorry!” Elio exclaims as he rushes in to turn it off and greet a confused Oliver – he always wakes up before his alarm, it’s really just a precaution so he doesn’t ever sleep through when he’s supposed to take his meds…

Maybe he should have thought to turn it off when he woke up.

“Sorry,” he says again with a sheepish look when the room goes silent, but for something playing on the tv, a moment later. 

“How long have you been up?” Oliver asks as he sits up, rubbing sleep from his eyes and feeling like a terrible host.

“Not long,” Elio shrugs with a smile. “Breakfast? I’ve already ordered, so it should be here really soon. I hope you like eggs!”

Slow to wake, Oliver’s brain is still trying to catch up with the fact that Elio is in his bedroom first thing in the morning. They didn’t drink that much the night before but the wine can’t be helping his disorientation.

“I do,” he manages with a rough voice, then a hopeful, “Is there any bacon on the way?”

“Oh,” Elio says, face falling a little. “No, sorry. I didn’t really think about it, I ordered from my favourite place – it’s vegetarian.”

“You’re vegetarian?” Oliver asks, surprised, as Elio nods, that someone so happy-go-lucky would bother to think about whether he should eat meat, or restrict himself in that way – then again, Elio’s meal last night was much greener and leafier than his own now that he thinks about it, and there was no meat in his street food when they went out…

Maybe he was wrong about him being a big animal lover?

Elio just keeps nodding as Oliver thinks, smiling again as he heads for the door. 

“Do you want to have a shower before it arrives? I had one earlier and I couldn’t find your other towels so I just used the one in there – your shampoo smells really nice by the way.”

_There’s a second towel at the back of the cupboard so it’s fine, but of course he didn’t wait to ask, _Oliver thinks affectionately, huffing a tiny laugh to himself as he stands.__

____

_I wonder if anything he’s ever wanted to do has been unacceptable to someone – has he ever been in danger of not getting exactly what he wants?_

____

“Yeah, I’ll have a shower,” Oliver yawns, leaving Elio to his tv.

____

When he emerges fifteen minutes later with wet hair wearing a plain t-shirt and jeans, Elio is placing the last of the cutlery on the table, popping a piece of tomato into his mouth and laughing at something on the tv.

____

_He kind of makes his home everywhere he goes doesn’t he,_ Oliver thinks. _He’s never worried about what other people think. That’s something that can come with having the money to just move on to the next thing if something goes wrong, but with him… it feels like it’s also something else._

____

“Smells good, doesn’t it?” Elio asks with a satisfied grin as he sits down.

____

_He’s always so pleased with his taste in things, too,_ Oliver notes with an internal laugh. 

____

There are so many little things about Elio that make Oliver smile to himself…

____

“It does smell good – again,” he says truthfully – he would have liked some bacon or sausages or something, but the egg-bake Elio got for him smells amazing.

____

“Did you sleep well?”

____

Oliver considers for a moment before replying, “Better than I have in a long time,” honestly.

____

“Me too,” Elio smiles before forking some spinach and tomato into his mouth.

____

_Why does he always eat so healthily? He’s tiny, and his skin is already practically glowing, why not let himself be free in this way, the way he is in others?_

____

Oliver is still wondering most of the meal later, when Elio pulls out his little medicine bag and lines up his pills on the table without a word, counting and re-counting before swallowing them one by one with nothing but a small sip of water at the very end.

____

At that Oliver can’t contain his concern and curiosity, watching the practiced routine with a frown without a word before finally blurting out his question. 

____

“What are all those for?” he asks, stunned at the sheer number of medications – he’s never known anyone under the age of sixty who’s had to take so many pills at once. 

____

Does he do this every day?

____

“Oh, it’s nothing important…” Elio begins reflexively, but then he reconsiders.

____

Usually he just brushes it off with people he wants to spend time with and moves on before they can voice their questions. Or sometimes instead he’ll tell them exactly what it is in gruesome detail – without the sad parts, obviously – and enjoy their fascination with him and his experience…

____

But with Oliver, he finds he doesn’t want to do either of those things. 

____

He’s going to have to tell him eventually if they keep going after whatever this thing is between them.

____

“…They’re actually for this,” he says softly, pulling at the collar of his shirt and running a finger up and down the scar on his chest.

____

“…What do they do?” Oliver asks, uncertain if he should ask questions or wait for Elio to speak. For the first time it feels like he might need to direct the conversation.

____

“I mean… they do a lot of little things,” Elio says. “But mostly they stop my body from rejecting my heart.”

____

There’s silence in the room as Oliver pauses, placing his knife and fork down and putting his hands in his lap, unsure of what to do or say.

____

“You, um—”

____

“I had a heart transplant when I was a kid, yeah,” Elio says with forced lightness he hopes he can’t detect, before he huffs with a short laugh, “First one was shit.”

____

Oliver can’t really see the humour in it. 

____

“What, uh…” He licks his lips, swallows. “What was wrong with your heart?”

____

“Big stupid hole in it,” Elio mutters. 

____

He takes a breath and decides to just tell the whole story as best he can… he’s never told it exactly like this before – his parents and Marzia were around when it happened, and every other time he’s told the story it’s basically been a party trick.

____

But for some reason he just… wants Oliver to know. Not the way he wants other people to know… 

____

He just wants Oliver to know more about him.

____

“Okay, so basically, when I was a kid,” he explains with a sigh as he leans forward. “I was always smaller than the other kids, and I was slower to walk and talk than most, and everyone else always seemed to be able to run and jump and… everything, faster and longer than me. But I did okay, and it was just kind of the way it was – some kids are just like that, you know?”

____

Oliver nods.

____

“But then when I was ten my parents noticed that my skin seemed kind of grey and my lips were kind of blue and I was tiring out faster than usual, so they took me to the doctor. The doctor told me my heart sounded strange, and so we booked an appointment with a cardiologist to do a bunch of tests, but then the day before I was supposed to go I passed out in the middle of baking with my mom… And everything sucked after that,” he laughs humourlessly.

____

A dark, bitter look flashes in his eyes for a moment before he covers it up and continues factually, lightly.

____

“It’s kind of complicated but basically there was a hole in my heart that was stopping the right kind of blood from going where it was supposed to – they could have just fixed the hole before, but by the time they knew it was there it’d progressed and I needed a new one…” 

____

Elio trails off, and when he picks up his voice loses some of its false brightness before he can conjure more.

____

“…While we were waiting I would pass out all the time, and lose my breath just sitting still… I looked really sick and I couldn’t go to school… They were pretty sure I wasn’t going to get what I needed in time.”

____

There’s a kind of faraway look in Elio’s eyes as he speaks, as though remembering something he’d really rather not, Oliver thinks as he draws his brows. 

____

And he’s right. 

____

Elio is trying not to remember his mother’s badly hidden tears every other day, the way his father blamed himself for not noticing the signs earlier, the way they gave him everything he wanted and the way they tried to help him be okay with the fact that without a miracle he was going to die before his eleventh b—

____

He closes his eyes for a moment to reset, and when he opens them he makes sure his voice is bright again as he shrugs.

____

“But then I got a transplant from someone in a car accident, and Jordan T. Mitchell’s heart should keep going for as long as anyone else’s as long as I take care of it. He was pretty young…” he trails off, before smiling and shrugging. “All the kids at school thought it was really cool when I came back, anyway. Happy ever after achieved – thank you Jordan.”

____

Oliver is still speechless at the end, brows drawn and eyes wide.

____

Elio suspects he wasn’t quite as successful as he would have hoped at keeping it light, at some points.

____

“Jordan Mitchell?”

____

“Yeah, that was his name,” Elio murmurs, dropping the façade a little again. “I met his mom afterwards. She was crying and she wanted to listen to his heart in my chest which was kind of weird, but she was nice. My parents paid for his funeral and paid off her mortgage and stuff… we send each other holiday cards.”

____

“That’s…” 

____

Oliver still can’t seem to find his words. Elio is obviously fine now except for all the pills, but…

____

No wonder he eats healthily, doesn’t drink, doesn’t want other animals killed for him to eat… He nearly died when he was _ten_ , and he saw it coming for months. 

____

No wonder he treats his life so lightly, no wonder he couldn’t care less about what he _‘should’_ do…

____

Oliver feels bad for wondering whether Elio has ever been at risk of not getting what he wanted when he very nearly didn’t get what he needed. 

____

_No wonder he likes happy things and avoids sad things and doesn’t want to turn his hobbies into careers… No wonder his parents want to know where he is and worry about something bad happening to him when he goes out with someone new…_

____

They already nearly lost him once.

____

It’s no wonder that Oliver’s obstacles seem small and surmountable to him… Elio’s ‘silver lining’ was _getting to live._

____

“…So that’s what was on your bracelet,” Oliver finally says, softly.

____

“Oh, yeah,” Elio says, lifting his hand to read, _“’Heart Transplant Recipient’._ It’s got my medical ID and my mom’s number and stuff in case something happens to me… Pretty stupid to get a miracle transplant and then die because the ER didn’t know about it, you know?”

____

“That would be stupid,” Oliver agrees, his tone off as his mind races.

____

Elio can see his brain keep whirring over what he’s told him and would really rather it didn’t right now. He’s gotten telling Oliver what it is he wanted him to know out of the way, and now the last thing he wants to do is dwell on it. 

____

_If Oliver wants to get melancholic and thoughtful about it he can do it on his own time,_ insists the part of Elio that helped put him back together and go back to something like normal after the nightmare was over.

____

“Anyway,” Elio exclaims, placing his hands on the table and standing, pushing the last of his meal into the trash. “That’s my sob story,” he grins, turning around with his hands on his hips and ignoring Oliver’s kicked-puppy look. “Pity me, please,” he ribs. “You’ve seen how unfortunate I am – I do accept donations.”

____

_Ah, a smile at that – and it almost reaches his eyes, even!_

____

Rolling his eyes, Elio takes Oliver’s plate and walks towards the trash again.

____

“You done?” he asks, not waiting for an answer before giving Oliver’s food the same treatment, stacking the plate in the sink, and grabbing Oliver’s phone and wallet from the bench. “Come on,” he insists. “You’re giving me sad eyes, we’re doing something fun.”

____

Oliver, in fact, was not done, but if Elio doesn’t expect him to talk while he’s looking up things to do and walking down the street it gives him some time to think about what he’s found out.

____

Ultimately it’s not like Oliver didn’t have some idea of it, with the scar, and the medical bracelet, and all the other little things that didn’t quite feel right… It’s just maybe a surprise that it was something _so serious._

____

Any childhood surgery leaving a scar that big in the middle of the chest is a big deal and he knew that as soon as he saw it, but to spend those months believing he wasn’t going to make it, to run out of breath sitting still, and to pass out all the time and wonder every time if that was the time you were going to die – all at age _ten…_

____

Oliver admires Elio in some different way now, he supposes. 

____

Is admire the right word?

____

His sometimes fairy-tale view of things like money and debt seems somehow entirely forgivable with the knowledge of what he went through. 

____

He doesn’t exactly feel inspired to throw caution to the wind because _he could die at any moment_ or something – not in the slightest – but he does look at Elio’s behaviour with more of an understanding of why afterwards, finding himself smiling at the younger man’s extravagant, frivolous purchases at the museum giftshop, where they end up after a morning spent demanding and delivering lectures about every vaguely Ancient Greek thing they came across.

____

He only rolls his eyes a little as Elio pulls him into some upmarket pet store to look at the million dollar cats.

____

“Can we please look at these ones? We’re interested in buying,” Elio lies with an eager look on his face, bouncing on his toes.

____

_I’ll have to keep an eye on when he’s lying,_ Oliver thinks with a half-amused, half-distressed huff as they’re shown into the little pen. 

____

With little struggle he finds he manages to quash the part of him wondering what will happen if they get caught obviously not intending to buy… Elio will talk them out of it probably. 

____

It’ll be fine.

____

Instantly Elio is picking up a bluish-grey kitten with a resting-sad-face that says, _‘I’m sorry I ate your cupcakes mama’_ , and cuddling him to his chest.

____

“It should be illegal to be as cute as you are,” he coos. “I wish I could take you _home!_ But Luna likes her space too much,” he sighs, giving the cat a dozen rapid fire kisses and holding him to his chest again until he squirms, before placing him down to look at another.

____

After a moment he notices Oliver hanging back and turns.

____

“Don’t you want to play with them?” he asks, brows raised in surprise.

____

“I mean…” Oliver trails off, bringing a hand to the back of his neck like he so often does when he’s unsure. “I like cats, I suppose, but my family never had any pets. I don’t really know how to play with them.”

____

Elio scrunches up his nose at that, laughing.

____

“Is that something you need to learn? Just sit down, they’ll come to you.”

____

And Oliver does. 

____

And they do.

____

A lot of kittens do brush up against him over the next few minutes and he scratches behind their tiny ears like he’s seen people do before, but they all seem to prefer Elio in the end, who will pick them up and spin them around and throw things for them to chase.

____

Oliver finds himself sitting back, cross-legged on the floor with his hands in his lap, simply enjoying watching Elio play after a while. It’s a sweet sight and he manages to finally fully relax just watching. But then he jumps about three feet in the air when he feels long, fluffy fur rubbing against his elbow. 

____

“Jesus!” he hisses, but Elio is too preoccupied to notice. “Where did you come from?” he asks the white furball glaring up at him, assessing.

____

This cat is older than the others by a fair bit, not quite strictly a _kitten_ anymore by the look of her. She is silent as she brushes up against Oliver again, having apparently deemed him acceptable enough in her assessment. 

____

He moves to scratch her behind the ears like with all the others but she just meows and stands in front of him with a pointed look until he scratches all the way down her back. And then she meows until he does it again, and again, and then she sits in his lap, purr like a motor running.

____

Surprised, Oliver just sits staring for a moment. He tries to pet her again but as soon as he gets near her fur she stops purring and glares up at him again until he raises his hands in surrender. 

____

The cat knows her boundaries and her wants… Oliver respects that about her.

____

God knows he doesn’t know how to stand up for his own half the time anymore.

____

They end up sat there contentedly for only about five more minutes before Elio decides he’s bored and turns around to see them there, the cat satisfied and Oliver surprised to find himself covered in white fur.

____

“Oh my god you guys are so sweet together,” Elio clucks, holding up his phone and taking a picture. “She fell asleep on you!”

____

“She did?” Oliver asks, looking down to discover that Elio is in fact telling the truth.

____

“You _have_ to take her home,” Elio insists, instantly walking over to the pen door to flag someone down, barely hearing Oliver’s protests as he tries not to jostle the sleeping cat.

____

“I can’t have a cat!” he cries quietly. “She’ll be bored, I’m at work all the time! And I can’t afford a cat from _here!”_

____

“Excuse me,” Elio says to the employee, ignoring his companion. “What’s the one in his lap’s deal? How much is she? What breed, what’s she like?”

____

“Well,” the attendant says, sounding a little reluctant. “She’s a Persian, white obviously. She’s a bit older than most of the cats here so her price is down to $2500… She was actually adopted once before, but the couple that bought her had a young child and they said she wasn’t playful enough… She _is_ more sedate than most of the cats, from what I’ve seen… Independent.”

____

_He says that like it’s a bad thing,_ grumbles the part of Oliver instantly filled with wrath at hearing that she was returned.

____

“They brought her _back?”_ he asks in a disgusted voice, taking the now-awake cat into his arms and standing. 

____

Elio gives Oliver a look at the tone in his voice, studying him with fascination. He hasn’t heard such… fire, in his tone before. It’s interesting, studying him holding this tiny cat dwarfed by his giant frame, as though shielding her or protecting her from the couple that took her home before…

____

“We’ll take her,” Elio says, not taking his eyes off of Oliver as he feels a smile appear on his face. 

____

The shocked look on Oliver’s face is priceless to Elio as the attendant eagerly says he’ll get the paperwork and rushes off.

____

“What are you doing?” Oliver asks, anxiety suddenly through the roof as he walks over. “I can’t afford a _two thousand dollar cat!”_ he hisses with drawn brows, afraid.

____

_“I_ can,” Elio laughs, crossing his arms as Oliver begins to protest again. “Come on, you _obviously_ love her!” he exclaims, exasperated. 

____

But Oliver is still insisting that it’s far too much, so Elio goes below the belt.

____

“This money is nothing for me, Oliver – and it could be nice to have a cat for company at your apartment! …Would you prefer she stayed here to maybe get returned again?” 

____

And then when Oliver’s expression doesn’t change, much more seriously, and softly, after a sigh, “They put down cats that get too old in pet shops, Oliver… If she’s not very playful, this could be her last chance.”

____

At that Oliver looks down at the ball of white fluff in his arms. She’s ridiculous looking, and she’s ridiculously expensive, and she’s glaring up at him as if challenging him to leave her. She’s daring him to abandon her too, after she’s chosen him.

____

Fuck, he can’t do it. 

____

Closing his eyes, Oliver sighs.

____

“I hate you,” he says simply as the attendant walks back in with all the paperwork.

____

Half an hour later they’re walking out to a car Elio has called, holding a litter tray and litter, a food and water bowl, some fancy brand food Oliver will never be buying after this, a collar with a charm already engraved with the name her previous family chose and Oliver’s number, and an already vaccinated, desexed, and microchipped white Persian meowing in annoyance in a carrier. 

____

Any truth in Oliver’s gripe before melts as he and Elio sit in the back seat comforting the cat, sticking fingers in through the cracks in the carrier for her to either glare at or rub against. 

____

“She doesn’t like me,” Elio sighs with a smile after she finally hisses at his finger when it goes a little too close to her, removing his hand and letting Oliver comfort her. 

____

“…Are you actually mad at me?” he asks, sounding uncharacteristically uncertain.

____

Oliver sighs.

____

“No,” he says, finally. “I can afford to buy her cheap litter and food, maybe tuna sometimes… I guess it just kind of seemed like a big deal to decide so suddenly…”

____

After sharing a long look with the cat Oliver finally looks up, steeling himself to tell the truth.

____

“You’re right that it could be good to have a cat in the apartment, and that I do love her already… I just don’t know how comfortable I am having you spend so much money for me.”

____

Elio tilts his head at that.

____

“But you said you used to have a lot of money?” he asks, confused. “You know that it’s nothing, why don’t you want it?”

____

Oliver sighs. He really doesn’t want to get into it. Between the conversation over breakfast and gallivanting around the museum and the stress of making this decision, he’s just too tired to explain to Elio why he doesn’t want to get used to depending on him for nice things.

____

“Forget I mentioned it – thank you,” he says, smiling over in a way that is apparently acceptably convincing, as Elio smiles back, his eyes lighting up in a way that makes Oliver’s chest do fluttery, clichéd things. 

____

He looks down at Elio’s mouth almost involuntarily, trying to imprint the sight of his soft, plush, pink lips in his mind in the millisecond he’s looking. 

____

When he looks back up Elio is only just looking back up himself, and is it just Oliver or does he seem to be getting closer?

____

Before he can think about what’s happening Elio’s lips are on his own and Oliver is staring at his closed eyes trying to remember how to move his mouth.

____

_Shut your eyes, dumbass, it’s easier when you shut your eyes!_

____

_Shit, right!_

____

As his eyelids slide shut Oliver’s whole world is suddenly just two lips, and a tongue teasing at opening his mouth.

____

_God, they feel even better than they look,_ he thinks with a short and quiet but incredibly embarrassing moan.

____

He feels his cheeks heat and Elio’s lips pull slightly into a smile at that.

____

He pulls away slightly for a moment, to murmur, “I liked that sound,” before going back in for more, placing a hand at the back of Oliver’s neck and enjoying the warmth of the blush still present there as he pulls him in closer – as close as he can get with two seatbelts holding them back and a cat-carrier on Oliver’s lap.

____

Oliver feels like a teenager again, struggling to contain his enthusiasm and to somehow emerge from the car without an awkward bulge in his pants.

____

_Fuck, maybe Sadie was right… maybe I do need to get laid._

____

Things might have gotten more heated, but Elio knows they’re nearing Oliver’s apartment, and as soon as he realises that he realises that the cat between them has been growling at him for the last thirty seconds at least.

____

When they stop and the driver gets out to unload everything in the trunk Elio finally pulls back.

____

“That was a pretty great ending to the day,” he says with a soft smile, his flushed faced almost glowing in the warmth of the dying sunlight streaming through the windows. 

____

“It was a pretty great day,” Oliver breathes, surprised to find himself more disappointed at their time being over than he is happy to have his time to recharge before he has to go back to work. 

____

They stare at each other smiling for a few more moments before Elio whispers, “You should probably go let Diego in,” his smile turning amused.

____

As though snapping out of something Oliver shakes his head a little and blinks a few times, jostling the unhappy cat in his lap as he reaches around trying to remember how to undo his seatbelt. 

____

“Yeah, I uh—I shouldn’t keep him waiting,” he laughs, suddenly well off his game again. 

____

He pushes the door open a little too hard in his haste, almost hitting a car whose driver leans on the horn for at least three seconds in retaliation as they speed down the street.

____

He blushes harder at that and shoots Elio a nervous smile as he gets out more carefully and shuts the door, grabbing his keys from his back pocket and letting the driver in. 

____

Before he can disappear Elio winds down the window and calls out, “You’re adorable when you’re flustered!” in a voice loud enough to make Oliver nervous that his neighbours might hear.

____

He just shoots another nervous smile and a wave before disappearing through the door. 

____

He doesn’t reappear on the balcony to say goodbye like Elio hopes he might, but a pale woman with flaming orange curls walks out on the balcony next to his and waves as the driver gets into the car.

____

Elio is confused for a moment, but as the car pulls out he realises this must be Sadie, leaning out the window and waving goodbye, blowing a kiss which she pretends to catch with a laugh.

____

In the apartment, Oliver finds himself placing a litter tray in a corner and filling it up, praying to god his new companion will use it instead of ruining his things with cat piss. 

____

He’s just finishing up when Sadie comes in without knocking.

____

“You weren’t kidding, kid’s gorgeous,” she declares through a breath, before staring down at the task Oliver is performing. “Oliver why is there a litter tray in your apartment?”

____

As if on cue, a white ball of fluff comes out of the bedroom to investigate the noise, with a face that says, _‘how dare you interrupt my peace?’._

_____ _

“Oh my god who is this!” Sadie cries as she rushes forward, prompting the cat to hiss at her, at which she raises her hands in surrender, waiting for the cat to come over and give her a sniff. 

_____ _

“For real, what’s her name?” Sadie asks, trying not to move too much as she’s assessed.

_____ _

Oliver sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

_____ _

“I didn’t name her, okay? She already had a name when I found her.”

_____ _

Sadie grins, half excited, half evil.

_____ _

“What’s her name Oliver?”

_____ _

Fuck me.

_____ _

“…Her name is Princess Tatiana-Marshmallow III. Apparently. She responds to Princess.”

_____ _

At first Sadie makes a face like she’s trying to decide whether she just had a stroke or not.

_____ _

“You have a fluffy white Persian cat called Princess Marshmallow?” she asks around her slow grin.

_____ _

Oliver sighs again.

_____ _

“I left you alone with him for _one day!”_ she exclaims, laughing. “I _love_ this kid!”

_____ _

_____ _

_____ _

When Sadie feels she’s bonded with Princess and made enough fun of Oliver for his ridiculous new cat she leaves to repaint her nails and continue her umpteenth re-watch of Buffy, leaving him alone with said cat and a cup of two minute noodles.

_____ _

Sitting down with a book on the couch as he is wont to do, Oliver sighs, halfway between contentment and something else he can’t quite identify.

_____ _

“Meow,” says Princess. 

_____ _

“What?” asks Oliver.

_____ _

_“Meow,”_ she says, more insistent this time. 

_____ _

_“What do you want?”_

_____ _

If Princess could have rolled her eyes in that moment, Oliver thinks she would have, as she butts her head against the arm in her way and creates a space for herself in his lap like she did at the shop.

_____ _

Begrudgingly, Oliver smiles a little as she curls up on his thighs and immediately closes her eyes to sleep.

_____ _

_Big day,_ Oliver thinks.

_____ _

_Pretty big day._

_____ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of angst, bit of literal kitty fluff :')
> 
> Anyway, please leave me a comment, they really do make me very happy 😊😊❤️ I reread them all the time lol


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio and Oliver spend another night together...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this one is a little bit slow maybe? And less edited than perhaps I would like but I said I would upload it today and I have a friend over earlier than I thought so I can't really edit 😬
> 
> I think it's still cute though :')
> 
> (The Manhattan Wine Club is not real I assume, but eh it's a name _ALSO_ spoilers for the movie Chocolat which came out a long time ago so is it really spoilers?)

It’s Friday afternoon again when Oliver arrives home to a box sitting in front of his door, right in his way.

His plan for the night was to feed Princess – god, he’s still not used to that name – read a little, eat some actual fresh food as his weekly treat, and maybe watch some of that show Elio showed him last week before passing out on the couch at eight o’clock. 

He tells himself as he approaches the door that he deserves a rest after spending the week hauling himself to work through a cold that’s mostly, but not entirely left him…

But something about the unexpected package tells him that’s probably not what’s going to happen now. 

Picking it up Oliver hears sloshing inside and instantly knows what it is, Elio’s words about his wine being undrinkable echoing in his head.

He opens the door with a groan and places the box on the counter while trying to avoid the furball weaving between his legs meowing for food.

“Yes, I know Princess,” he sighs through a yawn. “I know you haven’t eaten since breakfast, it’s hard – but I haven’t either you know, and I’ve actually done something productive since this morning.”

He knows he’s talking to himself, but it’s been nice to have a _sentient_ wall to talk to this past week. 

His Two and a Half Thousand Dollar, Sentient Wall.

Spooning some tuna into her bowl and scratching her neck, Oliver sighs and sits on his couch, to rest his feet before cooking and to investigate this not-entirely-mysterious package. 

He smiles despite himself as his rips open the cardboard and predictably discovers two bottles of what he assumes is some very expensive wine. 

After a moment’s consideration he pulls out his phone and calls Elio – to thank him or beg him not to spend any more money, he’s not sure yet. 

Maybe both.

“You got my delivery then,” Elio says as he picks up, a satisfied grin clearly audible in his voice.

Oliver sighs, immediately defeated by how much he’s realising Elio is a positive influence in his life.

“Yes,” he admits, slowly smiling. “Thank you… But you shouldn’t have sent it, I’ll get used to nice wine and cry when I have to go back to ‘swill’ next week.”

On the other side of the line Elio’s grin turns beam. 

“No you won’t,” he contradicts, pausing the beginning of his movie. “There’ll be more at your door next week, and the week after that – welcome to the Manhattan Wine Club.”

Oliver groans on the other end of the line, causing Elio to laugh some more. 

He truly enjoys hearing Oliver begin to ease up around him… Progressing with Oliver feels so different to all the other times he’s been interested in people…

Maybe because Oliver started off shaking like a wet stray – adorably, but still painful to watch. 

“If you haven’t opened it yet why don’t you come over here and tell me how it is as you try it?” Elio asks when he’s done laughing. “I’ve only just started watching a movie; I can go back to the start and order something for us – it should be here by the time you arrive.”

Oliver thinks for a moment, looking towards his kitchen.

“I mean… I’d like to, but it’s—”

He cuts himself off – even to his own ears, _‘it’s fresh food night and I’m tired’_ sounds depressing.

“You know what, that sounds good,” he finally says. 

He may not want Elio to keep buying him expensive wine or two thousand dollar cats, but an order-in dinner he can handle.

 _The food will still be fresh tomorrow… two good food nights in one week? Score,_ he thinks to himself with a quiet huff as he stands to get changed and collect his things.

Oliver hasn’t been into a building with a lobby since his father had him escorted out of theirs after the ever-so-merciful twenty minutes he was allowed to collect his things over a year ago now.

 _It’s amazing, the difference between walking into a place like this knowing you literally own it, and walking in picking the dirt from under your nails so the guard doesn’t think you’re going to rob the place,_ he thinks, unsure if he really feels anything about it or if he’s just observing yet another new perspective.

It’s hard to reconcile the things he feels and experiences with Sadie and Elio with the unfinished _whatever_ is it he feels about his past. The way he used to live feels so far away from his life now and so far from _reality_ , and yet it still impacts just about his every thought and action. 

He isn’t really sure he’s ever going to know who the _real_ him is…

Shaking himself loose after the thought passes, Oliver gives his name at the concierge as Elio told him to, and is escorted to the elevator which goes up an alarming number of stories up before delivering him directly into Elio’s apartment. 

In the penthouse. Shit.

He was kind of banking on having a moment to collect himself in a hallway or something, but no such luck.

“Oliver!” Elio calls from the couch, placing down the purring feline in his arms and rushing over with a smile as the older man’s heart sinks.

_Jesus Christ, how did he seemingly-happily spend the night in my shithole apartment when he lives like this?_

“Hey,” he says, trying to keep the dread out of his voice as he smiles weakly and lifts the bottle in his hand, offering, “I brought wine.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Elio gushes as he kisses his now-warming cheek and takes the bottle, shepherding Oliver in. 

“Oh, I’ve had this one before,” he exclaims as he inspects the bottle. “My parents like this brand a lot – we visited one of the vineyards when I was in middle school.”

“I can’t imagine you in middle school,” Oliver admits, shoving his hands in his pockets as he shuffles over to where Elio is standing in his sleek kitchen.

“I’ve basically always been a scale model of my current self,” Elio says with a shrug before gesturing to himself. “Just imagine this, but smaller and wearing red drainpipes with too much hair gel for hair that short, or in fact for any length hair.”

“I _really_ can’t imagine that,” Oliver says distractedly, looking enviously over the clean lines and shiny surfaces of Elio’s kitchen – virtually unused if his track-record with ordering in is anything to go by.

“Do you two need a moment alone?” Elio asks with a smirk as he watches Oliver’s gaze travel. “Should I step out for a second?”

“Maybe,” Oliver smiles genuinely, running a finger over the smooth marble countertop and then the wooden bench.

It wouldn’t have even occurred to him as something special before he had to fend for himself, but with his tiny, eye-sore kitchen at home, Elio’s kitchen is… godly, to him.

He may need to offer to cook for them here sometime.

“I will not be outshone by a kitchen,” Elio declares good-naturedly after Oliver admires the space for slightly too long, pouring the older man a glass of the wine – notably not pouring one for himself, but also pouring his companion’s generously to convey that he doesn’t mind.

 _I guess I’ll have to get used to taste-testing alone since I’m guessing I can’t convince him to stop the subscription – if having two glasses in one evening is an ‘exception’ to him,_ Oliver thinks.

Elio swirls the glass for a few moments before handing it over.

“The food is here already, but I want to know what you think of this first.”

Oliver’s expression softens at the genuine curiosity on Elio’s face as he closes his eyes and takes a tiny sip.

_God that’s good._

Though he had some last weekend, and though he had a glass of the second bottle Elio had delivered before Sadie commandeered it as ‘guidance-tax’, Oliver’s tastebuds are still positively buzzing at the taste of _good fucking wine_ after so long without it.

He’s only brought back down from his high by the combination of Elio’s snickering and the sneeze building as he swallows.

It echoes through the apartment and leaves him with a nose feeling suddenly much stuffier than before.

Elio is silent, stepping back unconsciously and giving a wary look.

“…Are you sick?” he finally says, voice strangely guarded.

“Uh—Yeah I’ve been sick all week, but it’s just a cold. And I’m like, 90% better, I promise,” he reassures, confused at the sudden shift in mood.

Elio looks to the side.

“Are you sure?” he asks, expression pinched. “It’s not the flu, or something worse? You’re sure it’s just a cold?”

“I mean, I got the flu shot last month since there was no co-pay?” Oliver offers, only getting more confused with every passing second. “What’s wrong?” he finally asks, as Elio’s expression becomes less worried, but doesn’t quite relax.

“I just—” 

Elio sighs, looking down for a second before he continues. 

“I just can’t risk getting sick,” he says. “Like, ever. I don’t go to concerts or clubs or anything during flu season, I stay in if there’s something going around… I’m immunocompromised, that’s what half those pills do,” he explains dejectedly. “They weaken my immune system so it doesn’t realise my heart isn’t mine and attack it.”

“…Oh,” Oliver says dumbly. 

“Yeah,” Elio breathes, factual. “I’m more likely to get sick and less likely to be able to fight off whatever it is I get sick with… I trust you when you say it’s just a cold and that you got the flu shot, but I just…” he trails off, frustrated.

 _Should I have looked up living with organ transplantation after he told me about it,_ Oliver wonders.

Elio sighs again.

“Sorry,” he finally says. “It’s probably nothing – I probably pass ten people with the flu every day in winter… I’m just paranoid about it.”

“No, I understand,” Oliver says, though truthfully he knows he’ll never understand the fear, not really.

He’s sure he gets sick more, and for longer, now that he eats mostly nutritionally devoid noodles all the time, but he’ll never understand truly fearing the flu _killing_ him. It’s just an abstract possibility like getting struck by lightning, or quicksand or something.

“…When did you start to feel sick?” Elio asks, almost reluctant, after they’ve both been thinking for a little too long.

“Sunday,” Oliver says with certainty.

“Well, you could have stopped being infectious yesterday and you could have already been infectious when I saw you before, so it’s… It’s whatever,” Elio finally says, forcing himself to smile. “I’m not about to tell you to go home,” he laughs softly.

“I would though,” Oliver wants him to know. “If you were worried about getting sick, I would go home… I don’t want you to be worried in your own home because I’m here.”

Something shifts in Elio’s eyes at that, his expression going from forced smiling to touched as he looks down. 

“…Thank you,” he says after a few moments, feeling like he should say something else, but he’s not sure what.

After a few raw moments Elio takes in a deep breath and raises his shoulders in a long shrug.

“Well,” he exclaims. “Enough of that, I bought Chinese food.”

“Good Chinese food?” Oliver asks, a little emotionally whiplashed, but hopeful.

“Is there such thing as bad Chinese food?” Elio asks with a grin. “…But yes, it’s from a nice place if that’s what you’re asking.”

Five minutes later they’re sitting on Elio’s low, black, leather, expensive couch eating _very_ good Chinese food – though Oliver is a little disappointed to discover that Elio has once again ordered vegetarian. 

It makes sense that Elio would know vegetarian options best to assess whether Oliver would like them, and it’s still better than anything he’s eaten himself in over a year, but Oliver is undeniably accustomed to meat in his Chinese and Italian dishes.

Elio’s meal is once again noticeably healthier than Oliver’s, leaving the older man grateful that he had to good sense to know that he would rate artery-clogging tastiness over healthiness - he gets enough exercise at work not to worry.

“Thank you,” he says a few bites in. “This is amazing – again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Elio says dismissively through a mouthful of food. “I’m glad you like it,” he smiles before licking the sauce from around his lips.

“I do; you’re good at picking what I’ll like,” Oliver smiles back, feeling brave enough to wipe off a little bit of sauce Elio didn’t get with his tongue.

But then he’s not sure what to do with it – it’s probably weird for him to lick sauce off his thumb that was on Elio’s face this soon, isn’t it?

_Do I get a tissue?_

But then Elio beats him to the punch as always, grabbing his wrist and delicately licking the sauce off himself, answering Oliver’s slack, shocked expression with a quick, challenging raise of his eyebrows.

 _Oh fuck me, he’s going to kill me,_ Oliver exclaims silently.

“Well if I know what you like so well,” Elio says with a smirk, setting his plate aside for now and pressing play on the waiting movie. “Let’s see if I’m right in thinking you’ll like this.”

Only a few seconds of the music needs to play, as Oliver collects his brain from where Elio blew it all out over the floor behind him with his actions moments ago, before he recognises it.

“Oh, _Chocolat!”_ he exclaims excitedly, thoughts immediately redirected. “I do like this movie!”

“You know it?” Elio smiles, surprised – though he’s not sure why; he knows nothing of Oliver’s life, really.

“My sister and I used to watch it all the time,” the older man smiles nostalgically.

“Aw, that’s so cute,” Elio coos, immediately pressing play and refusing to let Oliver begin to dwell on anything to do with his family.

Though he has nothing to worry about, because Oliver is thinking about _him._

Oliver is thinking about how he’s pleasantly surprised to find that Elio has a movie with such heavy moments in his collection… It definitely has an atmosphere of warmth and love about it, but it doesn’t exactly shy away from darker themes either…

Mid-thought, Oliver sees movement in the corner of his eye, and has about half a second to prepare before there’s a giant black and white cat in his lap, sniffing him out.

Instinctually, Elio reaches out to ruffle to fur on Luna’s head, which she pauses her investigation to enjoy. 

“She hasn't got one of her front legs,” Oliver notes, tilting his head. “I mean, you told me she was missing a leg and some of her tail, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cat without them.”

“She’s special,” Elio smiles fondly, pushing her playfully to make her fight back, giggling as she play-bites his fingers in a way Oliver is sure Princess will never do.

She might bite him, but there won’t be anything playful about it.

Eventually Elio scoots over and positions himself leaning against Oliver with the cat sitting in front of them, purring. He looks up and smiles when he sees Oliver smiling down at him, glad that this is okay, and they’ve lost no progress being apart over the last week. 

All is well and Oliver is feeling slightly sleepy and very content for being outside his safety bubble at home, with the food and the first few sips of the second glass of wine in his stomach… 

Until suddenly, when the husband, Serge, breaks into the chocolate shop to hurt his wife Josephine, and Elio picks up the remote, pressing skip and not stopping until it’s almost ten minutes later in the movie.

“Hey, why did you do that?” Oliver exclaims as he wakes up fully, sitting up straighter.

“What do you mean?” Elio asks, confused. “I skipped sad parts, what’s wrong?”

Oliver makes a baffled face, gesturing as if to say, _‘are you serious?’._

“You skipped when you find out that Armande is sick! You skipped the scene that shows you how Vianne and Josephine can handle the men who try to crush them even when they fight dirty! It’s like… basically a metaphor for the whole movie!”

Elio laughs at how strongly Oliver feels about it, asking, “Is it? I’ve never watched this part before, I’ve always skipped it.”

 _“…Why?”_ Oliver asks, horrified, making Elio laugh more.

“Because if I wanted to be sad I’d watch the news,” he laughs, pressing play and kissing Oliver’s lips briefly to cool the situation in case some part of Oliver truly means his outrage.

“You smell like good wine,” he says playfully as he settles back in, and at that Oliver decides to just let it go, huffing in amused disbelief but not wanting to actually start anything over something so silly as skipping a part of a movie.

He’s just relaxed a little more with the liquid courage Elio seems only too willing to provide and placed an arm around his slender shoulders, pulling him close to his body… when he does it _again._

“Oh come on!” Oliver cries, rolling his eyes as Elio skips again – almost twenty minutes this time! “You can’t skip the whole fire _and_ Armande’s death _and_ Vianne trying to leave! They’re important scenes, how do you even know what happens in this movie?”

“I can piece it together,” Elio defends breezily, not understanding Oliver’s scandalised expression. “Why do I need to watch these scenes so badly?”

Oliver looks like he’s just asked him why he needs to drink water – it’s very funny to the younger man.

“Because that’s half the impact of the ending!” Oliver insists, hilariously outraged. “How can you fully absorb how happy the ending is if you haven’t seen the lowest points?”

“Pfft,” Elio scoffs shaking his head. “I never bought into the whole ‘no happiness without sadness’ thing. Why do you need sadness to feel happiness?”

“Because then your happiness _means_ something when it’s there,” Oliver implores.

“But meaning doesn’t have to come through suffering,” Elio counters with a raised brow, enjoying the debate, though he’d rather it were about something else.

“It doesn’t _have_ to,” Oliver agrees. “But in a movie like this, the meaning kind of does come from the suffering… Come on, you can’t skip past _every_ sad part in every movie.”

Elio raises a brow.

“Uh, yes I can,” he jokes, shaking the remote in his hand.

But Oliver just gives him a look – good-natured, but a look. 

“I don’t know,” he finally shrugs, giving up on convincing the older man. “Some people don’t do second-hand embarrassment in movies, I don’t do sad scenes.”

“You’re kind of limiting yourself there,” Oliver ribs, draining the last of his second glass and shaking his head as he places it on the table in front of him.

At that Elio decides he’s been challenged and stands, holding out his hand and shaking it until Oliver takes it and allows him to pull him off the couch.

He holds his hand loosely all the way to a closet of sorts on the far wall nearest to the tv, enjoying the contact immensely but looking forward to Oliver seeing what’s inside.

“Am I limited?” he finally asks with a smirk, pulling open the doors to reveal hundreds and hundreds of movies stacked neatly atop one another in little custom-made slot shelves.

“Jesus Christ,” Oliver whispers, eyes running over the titles – every comedy since 1970 as far as he can tell, a million romcoms, a million dramas… though Titanic is notably missing as far as he can tell.

“…Is there a romcom you _don’t_ have?” Oliver finally asks, a smile in his voice though his question is genuine.

“I mean, my mom and I watched a lot of her favourite movies together while I was little and… you know, sort of out of commission, physically,” Elio explains, a sombre edge to his voice. “We never really stopped, I guess.”

“Oh,” Oliver replies, suddenly feeling like the world’s biggest asshole. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply it was a bad thi—”

“No I didn’t take it that way,” Elio reassures, his lips turning up in a way that relaxes Oliver again. “I’m not ashamed to not be interested in “deep” stuff… Life can be sad enough on its own, I’d rather something unrealistic and happy,” he shrugs.

“…Yeah, I get that sometimes,” Oliver murmurs, looking down. 

“See!” Elio says when his expression doesn’t immediately clear, seizing his chance to brighten things up again. “This is why you need me in your life! You’re looking at the happiest movie collection on earth and you’re still frowning!”

Oliver concedes Elio’s point as he feels his expression lighten at his tone, following him to the couch and allowing the curly haired _fiend_ to pour a third glass of his fancy wine. He settles leaned against the arm of the couch with Elio snuggled in front of him scrolling through Netflix for the show they watched last time.

_Maybe I could stand to let myself just be happy more often…_

When an episode has gone by along with the rest of the glass, Elio hears Oliver’s breath even out behind him, looking up to find the older man’s eyes closed almost all of the way though it’s only nine o’clock – the blond is honestly probably already asleep and his eyes just don’t quite know it yet.

Elio finds it adorable, imagining Oliver working hard all day and staying up as late as he can before falling into an exhausted sleep on his couch…

He’d never want that kind of exertion for himself every day, but it’s incredibly cute on Oliver.

Turning off the tv Elio smiles and stands up, taking a moment to appreciate the sweet openness of his companion’s slack sleeping face before gently shaking his shoulder and smiling a private smile as he stirs confusedly.

“Wuh?” he begins intelligently, opening his eyes barely halfway and swallowing some saliva that he was probably about to start drooling out the side of his mouth.

“It’s getting late, let’s go to bed,” Elio whispers, and Oliver doesn’t need any more convincing to slowly, tiredly make his way, led by the hand, to Elio’s bedroom. 

A bed sounds so amazing to him in that moment he’s not even thinking about whose bed.

Elio doesn’t bother to try to get him to get out of his jeans or t-shirt, just changes into his own cosy pyjamas and brushes his teeth, returning to the bedroom to find Oliver instinctively curled up in the massive duvet, oblivious to the three-legged cat licking the back of his hair. 

Elio takes a picture, careful to turn the flash off so he doesn’t disturb the scene, before lifting the blanket and joining Oliver, setting his alarms and turning the lights off with his phone. 

He wraps an arm around the larger man and sidles up, burying his face in the crook of his neck and waiting all-too patiently for sleep to come – he doesn’t mind if it takes a while tonight.

Just as his eyes close however, Elio feels Oliver shift, turning his head and shoulders towards him and seemingly entirely instinctually delivering a single, gentle kiss to his lips, murmuring, “Night,” with a soft sleepiness that shatters Elio’s heart. 

Oliver runs a warming hand over the hairless arm around his waist and turns back around to continue sleeping, keeping his arm on Elio’s and not uttering another word as he’s suddenly dead to the world again.

Any little part of Elio that might have thought Oliver could turn out to be like any of the others he’s been interested in before breaks off in that moment, like an iceberg separating from the rest of the ice sheet. 

They’ve gone so quickly from first meeting to first date to sharing a bed – none of which is all that unusual for Elio, honestly…

But, _Fuck, I’m in trouble,_ he thinks with a small grin, before sleep finally takes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff ending, unusual amount of fluff from me in general in this fic tbh :') I just know I'm going to do something so fucking angsty soon, just as a bubbling over 😂
> 
> (No sexy times in this chapter bc Oliver tired working man, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to address it in the next chapter)
> 
> Please tell me what you think! A comment goes a long way ❤️❤️


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver begins to see through Elio's happy-go-lucky exterior, and they go out for a night with Sadie...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long guys, I really haven't been feeling it lately sigh... I'm not sure I'm happy with this chapter but I can't read over it again... there might be some edits in the morning?
> 
> Also there’s like a little bit of smut at the start cos I think some people requested it? Eh it’s short and barely even qualifies 💁♀️

Oliver wakes up to a sound he immediately recognises as Elio singing in the shower.

_Don’t Go Chasing Waterfalls?_

He huffs a little to himself in confusion at the wakeup before opening his eyes fully and immediately shutting them again. 

Three glasses of wine – even the overfull ones Elio poured – aren’t enough to make him hungover, but they are enough to make him a little bit disoriented and sluggish to begin with. 

_Fuck, did I fall asleep on the couch? Before_ ten? _God, I’m still wearing my fucking jeans._

Embarrassed, Oliver sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

_He’s going to think – know – that I don’t have my shit together, dammit. I should have just stayed home… Arguing with him about skipping parts of the movie, insulting his DVD collection, falling asleep on his couch only a few hours after arriving…_

Oliver stands and takes in his surroundings looking for a distraction so he doesn’t start torturing himself – and surprisingly quickly he finds one. 

One of the walls of Elio’s bedroom has a section covered in photographs arranged in a haphazard, almost-finished collage. Countless happy moments captured, and with Elio smiling in all of them – as always, Oliver can’t help but smile at the sight himself.

Photos in front of Great Pyramids, Eiffel Towers, and Taj Mahals, in clubs and pubs, at theme parks, regular parks – some of them are even of Elio beaming excitedly with singers and actors he’s clearly paid for meet-and-greets with… each photo seemingly with a new person.

Oliver is smiling as he studies the collage of Elio’s adventures, but then he spies a smaller selection on the floor, some in a pile clearly waiting to be put up to finish the collage, and a smaller number sitting in a box.

Curious, Oliver looks through the larger pile on the floor and finds more of the same, but when he looks through the photographs in the small wooden box with the plain lid and the carvings on the body, he discovers something else.

First is a picture of Elio and two people he assumes are his parents sitting relatively recently at an outdoor dining table – in Italy Oliver supposes judging by the aesthetic and what Elio told him about his mother growing up in Italy and France.

His father seems casual and kind but distinguished, and his mother is so elegantly, timelessly beautiful in her happy smile…

They’re so different to his own parents… He can see how they could raise a son like Elio.

The next photo is older he would wager, given how young Elio looks in it – there’s that too-gelled hair he mentioned last night.

He’s laughing on a lounge with a girl Oliver assumes is the best friend he mentioned, Marzia, and Oliver’s smile widens at the sight…

But then he flips past to see the third and final photograph.

It’s of a little Elio – when he was ten, Oliver would guess by the blue tint to his lips and the grey look of his skin… He must have been waiting for the transplant when this was taken.

He wasn’t lying when he said he looked really sick, but it’s not just the medical factors making him appear that way… 

He’s never seen Elio look so burdened before.

It’s clearly an unexpected snapshot; Elio and a little girl who looks even sicker than he does caught mid-conversation, with hospital toys scattered forgotten at their crossed feet. She has a little cannula under her nose and a beaten-down expression on her face that makes Oliver frown, and makes his throat close up a little. 

This is clearly the other childhood best friend Elio mentioned, and it suddenly dawns on Oliver why he paused when he mentioned her, why he only has one best friend now…

He met her in the course of his treatment because she was sick too, only she didn’t make it. Ten-year-old Elio’s friend is dead, and has been for almost as long as she was alive. 

_Fuck, she was so young,_ Oliver thinks, trying to stop his eyes from welling up so Elio won’t ask why they’re red later. He doesn’t know much about children but he knows no child should never have to feel whatever it is she’s feeling in this moment; has clearly been feeling for some time for such a horribly adult expression to be on her face. 

Whatever it is she feels, Elio is feeling it too. The look in his eyes is just… 

Oliver suspects that there’s a reason that this photo is in Elio’s possession at the bottom of a wooden box, and not with his parents.

He’s so wrapped up in the tragedy that he doesn’t notice that Elio has stopped the shower until he hears the click of the lock and the opening of the door

He places the box carefully down and blinks fast to clear his eyes, rushing to the bed to sit down and pretend he’s just getting up.

“Hey,” Elio says softly as he enters the room, wearing only a towel around his waist and a Star of David Oliver has never noticed before around his neck, rubbing a towel over his wet hair. 

The smile on his face should make Oliver happy, or at the very least the sight of his lean torso should stir something positive, but all he can think about is Elio’s sick face in that photo and the way he’s sure he’s seen the tiniest glimpse of that expression somewhere before it was _immediately_ covered up to keep him from—

“You okay?” Elio asks, giving a sympathetic look. “Is something wrong?”

Brought back to the present Oliver shakes himself a little and gets his thoughts in order.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says with a little, forced huff of laughter. “I’m fine, I just uh… I’m sorry about falling asleep on your couch basically right after I got here. I kind of feel like an asshole.”

“You’re not an asshole, and you didn’t fall asleep ‘basically right after you got here’,” Elio laughs, coming over to ruffle Oliver’s hair to loosen him up. “We watched a whole movie first – and besides, I knew you were tired, and sick.”

Elio shrugs and smiles and immediately Oliver’s anxiety begins to decrease.

_It’s amazing how he can do that… usually I’m a mess with anyone other than Sadie, or maybe one or two of the guys at work; how can he make me so okay so quickly?_

Sighing out the last of his useless anxiety, Oliver looks up to find Elio staring down at him with a strange look in his eyes – almost the one he had in the car on the way home from buying Princess, but somehow darker.

Maybe darker isn’t the right word… perhaps it’s that it’s less delicate, more rough, more heated, more—

Elio leans down and presses a slow, deep kiss to Oliver’s lips, pushing him further back onto the bed.

Oliver feels a smile on Elio’s lips as they explore his own and it takes the air out of his lungs. He tries to bring his hands up, to—Well, to do _something,_ but Elio just pushes them to the side and enjoys the breath he lets out at the feeling of being at his mercy, even though he could break the hold if he wanted to.

“Is this okay?” he asks with that smile still on his lips, before running his hands down Oliver’s work-sculpted sides and sneaking under his shirt, clearly with no doubt in his mind of the answer he’s going to get.

“Yeah, this is—Yeah,” Oliver breathes, hating himself for feeling overwhelmed so easily but not wanting to stop. “I’m probably gonna—” he begins, blushing furiously and looking to the side as Elio leans back to see his face.

“You’re what?” he asks ever so slightly breathlessly as he moves his head until he’s in Oliver’s line of sight, impatient to get back to the matter at hand. 

“I’m just.” Oliver groans. “It’s been a while, I’m probably not going to last very long.”

At that Elio just shakes his head and laughs, leaning up to bite Oliver’s earlobe before whispering into his reddened ear.

“I’m counting on it… there’s food coming.”

After which he pulls back to find a condom in his bedside table drawer.

“There’s _always_ food coming with you,” Oliver laughs incredulously as relief floods him.

But then a moment later it occurs to him to question what Elio is planning to do with a condom. 

“We’re not going to, you know… go _all_ the way right now are we? We won’t have time.”

Elio gives him a funny look at that, tearing the packet open with his teeth.

“…No?” he says, frowning confusedly. “I’m just going to use my mouth, why would you think that? Do you not use protection for oral? You can still get sick that way.”

 _…No? Do people do that? Should I?_ Oliver’s brain supplies uselessly as Elio gestures for him to undo his jeans, and he does as told. 

Every blow job he’s ever gotten or given has been in high school, rushed, in secret, with another boy equally terrified of his parents or anyone else finding out what they were doing – protection wasn’t exactly their main concern.

…And he hasn’t really had cause to worry about protection since.

“I mean, I guess I would use one, if I’d had someone to use one _with_ recently,” he laughs, hoping his self-deprecation and his burning cheeks will cover his tracks. 

“How someone who looks like you could ever have a dry spell is a mystery to me,” Elio says with a roll of his eyes, before he looks down from Oliver’s face to where his shirt has ridden up and his mind becomes a little more one-track…

It is as Elio was banking on it being, and they finish just in time for him to wipe the spit from his mouth, shoot Oliver a salacious grin, and head for the door still dressed only in his towel – the towel he’s holding carefully in such a way that it will stop the poor delivery man from seeing anything popping up that he might wish he didn’t.

Oliver thinks dazedly that he should probably take care of that, but by the time Elio has the food on the table and he’s put all of his clothing back on properly it’s not a problem anymore. It leaves him feeling a little guilty – not only did Elio give and not receive, he was also tasting the latex of the condom the whole time.

“Do you want me to… You know, reciprocate?” he asks awkwardly.

But as always Elio just laughs it off.

“The food’s already here,” he shrugs. “And that was my last condom anyway.”

 _Like you’ve got anything I could catch,_ Oliver’s brain supplies with an internal eyeroll, but then it occurs to him that Elio might be worried about getting something from _his mouth_ , going by the new information.

_Is that a thing? Jesus, how do I not know this, how old am I? Did I do Sex Ed in Texas?_

_No, you did Sex Ed at one of the most conservative schools in—_

“Oliver,” Elio calls, his fork halfway to a mouth torn between teasing and forgiving. “You’re doing that thing where you think too much – there will be plenty of time for you to ‘reciprocate’ later if you want to.”

Even when he gets what Oliver is thinking wrong, Elio’s face and voice always manage to make him feel like it’s going to be okay, he thinks as his shoulders relax once again.

He’s survived the first night at Elio’s, and it apparently wasn’t a total disaster – he’ll take it.

Oliver makes sure he gets tested at a free clinic next week even though he’s sure he doesn’t have anything, but to his disappointment they tell him he won’t be able to show Elio the results for at least another week.

In the mean time they just… keep talking. It feels like they’ve progressed, to Oliver, but nothing really changes in the way they talk to one another because of what happened that Saturday morning.

It makes him a little bit nervous when Elio starts calling to talk for hours instead of just texting for hours because he can’t filter himself as much, but really, things manage to just continue despite that nagging image in the back of Oliver’s mind, of blue-lipped Elio and that little girl. 

It’s not that he doesn’t believe Elio’s happiness as he laughs to him every other night, he _does,_ it’s just…

Sighing, Oliver knows he has to put it all aside tonight as he locks his door as he prepares to head out on yet another Friday evening. He just wants to have fun with the two people closest to him tonight. 

He’s got less than twenty minutes before Elio is supposed to be at Sadie’s door to meet her, before he takes them both to a bar he likes – something that surprised Oliver when he told him. 

He figured Elio probably didn’t spend much time in bars, being essentially a non-drinker… but he should have known better than to ‘figure’ anything about Elio, he thinks with a huff as he walks into Sadie’s apartment, as usual without knocking. 

He finds her at her stove surrounded by candles with no other light, swaying her long, floaty skirt to the song she’s playing and singing as she stirs.

“I am a culinary genius,” she declares over her shoulder before continuing to sing quietly. 

Oliver raises a brow as he closes the door and lets out a long, preparatory breath, heading over to turn on her fairy lights before anything else – he knows she’ll be mad at him for ruining ‘the mood’ if he turns on the ceiling lights to see better.

“How so?” he finally asks, heading over to investigate. 

It does smell good, but he knows for a fact that it’s just jar-sauce pasta. Sadie isn’t usually found in the kitchen for more than fifteen minutes at a time.

“I hear your doubt,” she challenges. “And I give you this.”

She raises her spoon to Oliver’s lips and gives him a pointed look until he tastes.

“…It does taste different,” he gives.

_Though not by much…_

“What did you do differently?” he asks.

“I added…” Sadie declares with a smile, lifting a spice jar to Oliver’s eye-height proudly. “This.”

He reads the label.

“You added an Italian seasoning to the Italian pasta sauce?”

Sadie makes a face.

“You’re such a gremlin…” she grumbles. “When was the last time _you_ had anything that wasn’t two-minute noodles – or chicken and vegetables _for a treat?_ Do you _own_ a spice?”

Rolling his eyes again Oliver takes one of the beers Sadie has pulled out of the fridge for them – she must have done it when she heard him locking his door, because it’s still ice cold.

“I’ve eaten three really good meals recently with Elio, actually,” he says with a note of smugness, knowing Sadie would love to have eaten some of the ‘cuisine’ Elio provided.

When Sadie just sticks her tongue out and turns off the stove Oliver reconsiders his smugness though.

“It was hard going back to eating like shit,” he admits, giving a sad look when Sadie turns around to give him puppy-dog eyes and an exaggerated pout. 

“I’m sorry to hear that Ollie,” she says, making up two plates of the food and leaving enough for a third – they don’t know if Elio if planning on eating there, but Sadie is nothing if not generous, even to apparent multi-millionaires. 

Oliver starts to say something more, but Sadie raises a finger to her lips and says, “Wait for it.”

Confused, Oliver does as she says, leaving the room silent but for her song.

A few moments later she smiles, and sings along with the song she’s playing.

 _“Beware, beware, keep your garden fair… Let no man steal your lunch,”_ she sings, raising a brow. “He’s ruined you for your lunch already my friend, this wouldn’t have happened if you’d listened to your favourite Jewish, Canadian singing twins.”

Oliver resists the urge to roll his eyes a third time and takes a sip of his drink as they settle on the sofa. 

“Elio’s Jewish, actually,” he notes, spearing some pasta. He’s not really thought about it since, but that shiny Star of David is suddenly in his mind again.

“Why is every Jewish person I know so hot?” Sadie ponders around a mouthful.

Oliver snorts at that as a knock comes at the door.

Immediately Sadie is up, almost knocking her beer over in her haste to place her bowl down.

“Don’t accost him!” Oliver calls, but he’s sure she’s just going to do whatever she’s going to do.

The door swings open leaving Sadie’s skirt blowing back with the force of it, and there’s silence for about a second before she gives a casual, “Hey.”

To which Elio replies with an open smile and a wave, “Hey – Sadie, I presume?”

“I am she,” she says, gesturing for him to enter. “And this is the pretty Prince boy who has captured my only son’s heart?”

“I… like to think so?” Elio replies, not questioning her wording as he spies Oliver over on the couch and waves again.

“I’m sorry about her,” Oliver says as he makes to stand. 

“Sorry for what? Don’t get up, I’ll come to you,” he says happily as he investigates the smell coming from the kitchen. “I like the lighting – did you make this?” he asks, smelling the sauce.

“I did,” Sadie says with an overly proud grin, making up a bowl and passing it. “Beer?”

“No, I’m alright,” Elio says, taking a bite – Oliver can see that he knows it’s jar sauce but he’s not about to say anything… he likes good food but he’s not a snob.

“What’s this music?” he asks after a moment, with an intrigued face.

“Oh I like you already if you like this,” Sadie gushes as she sits, telling him all about her favourite band. 

As Oliver suspected, Elio and Sadie get on like long lost twins, swapping bands and stories and movies as he watches and eats and drinks, feeling a little bit sleepy in how sated he is by the whole thing, mentally and physically – as always he is during a nice night after a long week of work…

He tries to wake himself up properly, but by the end the album Sadie is playing has reached a gentle song made up mostly of echoing piano and reverberating voices…

“Jesus Christ Oliver!” Sadie’s voice booms, a little too loudly when he yawns for the umpteenth time. “You are an octogenarian on the inside I swear, you _cannot_ be this tired at seven! Wake up!”

He’s pretty awake by the end of her reprimand. 

“You’re the one playing lullabies!” he protests, making a face and standing to wash out his bowl.

“Oliver is an overworked hard-worker,” Elio coos, joining him at the sink to wash out his and Sadie’s bowls and nudging his shoulder with a grin. 

“I’m glad at least you can see it that way,” Sadie sighs as she stands and stretches. 

When the dishes are washed and drying she turns and points at Elio.

“Take me to the bar, sir.”

Elio’s favourite bar has a classy feeling about it – you’re not going to see anybody throwing up in the corner – but it’s also lively, and so with cocktails as strong and colourful as the ones Oliver knows they serve… you might see a few people slightly more classily throwing up in the bathrooms later on.

He’s been here before.

As they approach the familiar entrance, instantly he’s on edge and resisting the urge to wring his hands nervously.

“I immediately approve; you’re making a very good first impression Elio,” Sadie smirks as they enter, to which Elio replies with a grin of his own. 

“It’s not bad, is it?” he asks, turning to Oliver to see what he makes of it.

“It’s nice,” Oliver smiles softly, though his tone isn’t exactly convincing.

“Is it?” Elio asks, genuinely but with a smile. “You don’t seem overly impressed by it.”

Oliver doesn’t reply for a moment, looking around the familiar space.

“I’ve been here before,” he finally admits. “A lot, actually; I used sneak out to play poker here. I was going to take April to play here too when she was old enough to be convincing enough with a fake ID… She always beat me when we played for sticks of gum.”

At first Elio doesn’t seem to know what to do with the information, weighing it in his head for a moment – he could see Oliver becoming nervous as they approached, but he figured it was just the nervousness he’s always seen when he’s seen Oliver around strangers.

“You played for sticks of gum?” he asks with a slow smile, choosing the fun part. 

“Well we weren’t going to play for real money, that would have gotten out of hand so fast,” Oliver smiles, allowing himself to remember the best of it rather than just to miss it. 

“Well maybe you can play poker again tonight,” Elio suggests with an encouraging look as he takes his companions to the bar.

“I don’t know,” Oliver mumbles. “I don’t think I’d be good at it anymore – even you told me my poker face needs work.”

“It was just a joke, Oliver,” Elio laughs, rolling his eyes and trying to lighten the mood. 

It’s not lost on Oliver, Elio’s pattern of trying to move forward quickly when things get heavy, but in that moment, truthfully he doesn’t want to get into it either.

As they walk up to the bar Elio is trying to picture Oliver as he says he used to be, walking in here with confidence and sitting down at the poker table with a whisky and cleaning up. Or maybe not cleaning up, but certainly holding his own…

He wants to bring that side out of Oliver tonight.

“Choose anything, tonight is on me,” he says brightly, keeping his agenda to himself and beaming at Sadie, knowing it will make her happy to have such freedom.

Predictably, Oliver gives a slightly stressed look and says, “You can’t pay for the whole night Elio,” though he _absolutely can._

“Oliver,” he says, giving him a look. “You know that a couple of cocktails aren’t going to break my budget – I don’t _have_ a budget.”

Oliver just shakes his head at that and starts picking his nails like he always does when he’s nervous, as always uncomfortable at having money that isn’t his own spent on him. 

Elio places a hand on his and looks up into his eyes to communicate that he needs to relax, and instantly Oliver’s hands are down, and he’s ordering something he always wanted to try but never bothered to before.

He really doesn’t want to get into all of this.

Elio orders a non-alcoholic cocktail and follows Sadie to a booth – Sadie who is more than delighted to discover that the bar also serves food, instantly ordering the most expensive shareable item just because for tonight, she can.

She knows money doesn’t mean anything to him and so she’s not afraid of it, and Elio appreciates that about her.

As they sit and sip and talk about movies, music, books, Luna, and Princess, Elio decides that there’s much more he appreciates about her beyond that, and he likes Sadie very much. 

She’s a bit taller than he’d expected from the brief glimpse he got dropping Oliver off after buying Princess, but even something as small as that makes him like her more – Oliver is lucky to have found her, he thinks.

Or more likely, to have been found by her.

He sees how she’s helped Oliver come out of his shell compared to where he would probably be without her by how she nudges his shoulder and laughs with him, by the way she makes him loosen up from his boxed-in posture into more relaxed laughter… 

With her effort and Elio’s lack of budget, it’s not long before she and Oliver are happily drunk and laughter is a constant around the table.

 _I never thought I’d be attracted to someone’s canines but there they are,_ Elio thinks amusedly. 

Most people don’t like being sober around drunk people, but Elio finds that drunk people are much more honest and free than their sober selves, and he finds it interesting to talk to people that way… at least until one of them starts crying.

As the night progresses and Oliver seems more confident Elio decides it’s time for him to try his hand at poker again – he can’t shy away from it forever, can he?

“Oliver…” he coaxes with an impish smile. “It’s time to face the poker table.”

The look of dread on Oliver’s face isn’t lost on him, but Elio doesn’t care in that moment. This is the closest he’s seen him to out of his shell, and he wants to see how far he can run with it.

He’s sure Oliver is susceptible to peer-pressure.

With a sigh and minimal protesting before Sadie punches his arm and whines until he acquiesces, Oliver stands, obviously very nervous but at least not a shaking mess.

They arrive at the table and join the small crowd gathered around watching their friends play. At first Oliver is just catching up with the game like his two companions, but a few moments later Elio looks up and his eyes are absolutely glued to the back of a blonde head of hair.

He tilts his head curiously, wondering whether Oliver is actually staring at her or if he’s just beginning to freak out and resting his eyes there – it wouldn’t be the craziest thing in the world for him to just start to panic judging by what Elio has seen of him interacting with strangers before…

But then the blonde speaks, and Oliver’s eyes widen as his shoulders tense up. 

He can feel his heart beating in his ears, in his fingertips… half in joy, half in fight-or-flight.

He smiles a private little smile at the sound of the familiar voice; a voice he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to hear again in real life…

_April._

He’s frozen as the table goes another round, observing the style his sister’s hair has grown out into, whether her competitive posture has changed, how she considers for a little longer than she used to – probably making her a more formidable opponent…

He’s proud of her, glad to see how she seems to be growing, that she doesn’t seem sad, or like his parents have made her life harder because of him… It can’t be that bad if she’s chosen to sneak out and risk using a fake ID the way she was going to with him one day…

But then she turns her head to the side, almost enough to have him in her line of sight. He’s lucky she didn’t see, because he definitely saw her face; _April’s_ face.

Immediately, Oliver finds he has control of his body again as he turns around and leaves, his companions chasing after him without a word as he strides across the bar and out the door, unsure of what he’s feeling except that it’s _a lot._

“Who was that, Oliver?” Sadie asks as she follows, voice uncharacteristically serious – she knows from what he’s told her in the past exactly who it was, but she needs it confirmed.

“It was my sister,” he says struggling to absorb it properly. “It was April.”

“Okay,” Sadie says placatingly, placing a hand on his back and guiding him to a bench a few feet away from the entrance. “Are you okay? Are you... going to have a panic attack or throw up or something?”

“No, no I’m not going to throw up,” Oliver assures, though he closes his eyes and leans forward with his hands to his head, trying to comprehend his old life and his new life colliding so unexpectedly.

It was such a clean break when it ended, they really do feel like two completely different lives …

“Oliver,” Sadie says, clearly not for the first time as he looks back up. “Do you want to go home?” she asks, with wide, understanding eyes. 

“…Please?” Oliver asks after a few moments. His brain is all over the place. “I’m so sorry, I don’t want to ruin the night, I know this is ridiculous, I just don’t want her to see me and try to talk to me and risk losing her in—”

“It’s not ridiculous, Oliver,” Sadie stops him firmly, placing two hands on his shoulders. “I need to go to the bathroom before we go, but then I’ll be right back and we can go home and watch a movie or something, okay?”

“No,” Oliver calls out as she turns away, his mind still mixed up. “You can’t go in there, she’ll see you, and—”

But then he realises. 

April doesn’t know Sadie at all. The space she occupies in his life means nothing to his sister, she doesn’t know that space exists. She could stare right at Sadie and not know her brother was there.

She doesn’t know where he works or what he's like now compared to how he used to be, let alone who Sadie is… His parents have taken that from him. His little sister – his best friend until she was taken away – will probably never know his new best friend. 

“Oliver… April doesn’t—”

“I know,” he sighs, mind seeming to come back online as grief sets in and his anxiety abates. “Sorry, I didn’t think.”

“It’s okay,” Sadie says softly as she hurries towards the entrance. 

After a moment’s hesitation Elio sits down next to Oliver.

He doesn’t know what to do in this situation… usually if somebody has a moment like this he leaves it to the people who know them best and takes off. The only person he knows best is Marzia, and she’s never really had a moment like this around him.

Oliver looks up towards him, his eyes unreadable.

“I don’t know what to say,” Elio says honestly. “It’s stupid to ask if you’re okay, but…”

“It’s fine,” Oliver says quietly, looking down dejectedly.

“Well, it’s not,” Elio says with a smile, but Oliver’s burdened expression doesn’t budge. Elio sighs. “…What happened?” he finally asks. 

As ever, he doesn’t want to stew in a low mood, but… He wants to know even the sad things about Oliver in a way that he doesn’t usually care to learn about others.

“I thought it was obvious,” Oliver huffs bitterly, though the bitterness isn’t directed at Elio. 

“It is, parts of it,” Elio gives. “But not all of it… Your parents kicked you out, they cut you off, and they don’t want you to see the sister you were close to… But why? What actually happened?”

Oliver isn’t sure if Elio’s tone in the moment is insensitive, or if he’s just feeling overly sensitive right now, but either way he’s not in any state of mind to be arguing, and… Even if now isn’t the best time to tell Elio, he just wants to talk to _someone_ about it right now.

He needs to tell someone other than Sadie about the day they found out.

“They… they found me with another guy,” he says simply to begin with, his voice wobbling. 

He hates how much he wants to cry but all his emotions are heightened right now. 

“I’d been doing it secretly for a year or more, and so I finally felt like it would be okay if I brought someone to my room while they were away on business… I’d always gotten away with whatever I’d done before, so I thought it would be fine. But then they came home early, the _first goddamn time_ I _ever_ brought someone to our house.”

Oliver’s deep, burning rage at the injustice is clear in that moment, coming through loud and clear in his voice… but also his regret, and his sadness, and his grief, in the quieter moments. 

Sometimes Elio forgets that Oliver is only a few years older than him, and that it’s largely what’s happened to him that’s made him the way he is… It’s new, to hear it so raw in his tone how he truly feels about what happened to him.

“My dad yelled at him to get out and then he hit me a few times and called me… well, he called me a lot of things,” he says resentfully. “And he told me to stay in my room while he went through my things, and I thought maybe… I knew it would be _bad,_ but I thought maybe they weren’t as crazy as I thought they were and they wouldn’t… I did everything they wanted, and I waited.”

Oliver pauses for a moment to breathe, and when he continues his voice is harder than before.

“Maybe if it had just been once they would have only sent me away or something, but my dad found all the messages, and he saw how far back they went, and he thought that I’d been bringing people back there since the beginning. He started raving about his money being used to, ‘commit affronts to the Lord in his house’ or something, and about how I was a shame to him and a stain on his name in God’s eyes and how he had no choice but to throw me out…”

As another thought occurs to Oliver his eyes well and his voice becomes shaky, his anger disappearing.

“April was there watching, when he called me back out,” he says, voice thick. “She was crying and begging him not to kick me out, and I told her to stay out of it because I didn’t want him to tell her she could go with me if she wanted to so badly or something… She’s smart, but in the heat of the moment she might’ve done something like that,” he laughs wetly before he grimaces. 

“He told her to go to her room and I yelled at her to do it too, and he told me that if I tried get her to talk to me again and she did, then he’d do the same thing to her. And then he gave me twenty minutes to grab what I needed and go. I got my laptop and some money I had in my room just in case, but he had my phone in his pocket…”

It’s such a small detail compared to the rest of the story, to have left his phone behind, but it feels important to Oliver – it feels _important_ to explain to Elio why he doesn’t have a regular phone, to explain so much of why things are the way they are…

When he speaks again that quiet, burning rage is back.

“I wanted to say something to my parents as I got in the elevator,” he says. “To make them _feel_ something about it – my mom just _stood by_ the whole time, but… it was all so sudden, I couldn’t think of anything. So instead he told me I was disgusting as the doors closed, and I haven’t seen him since. Or April. The last thing I said to her was to fuck off to her room to make sure she would.”

Oliver looks a little far away as he speaks about those last moments.

The memory must be burned into Oliver’s mind, Elio thinks. He knows how that feels… To have specific pivotal moments branded in your memory, so you can’t think about them without almost feeling like you’re back there…

What he doesn’t understand is the dwelling on it. 

Sure, he’s had hard moments, and sure they’ve marked him, but he’s not about to go about his life picking at the scars all the time – people used to tell him all the time how brave he was to move on so quickly from what happened when he was a kid…

Surely Oliver just needs help to do that too?

“That’s terrible, Oliver,” he says truthfully, taking one of his hands and wiping his cheeks with his free hand. “But it’s over. You’re building something now, and I’m sure you’ll find a way to talk to April once she’s moved out, and—”

“No,” Oliver interrupts. “I can’t talk to her until she has the money. I won’t risk that for her.”

“Okay,” Elio accepts, nodding. “But you’re alive, and you’re working towards something, and you have at least two people who _really_ care about you… Don’t let your parents upset you, on a night when you could be happy. They don’t deserve to bring you down.”

Oliver frowns at that as Elio smiles encouragingly. 

Why doesn’t Elio ever allow anyone to just be upset about something – especially himself. Why does he have to move on from heavy topics so quickly, why does he have to skip the sad parts, why does he always need some ‘silver lining’?

Sure, his parents don’t deserve to upset him, but it’s not about who deserves what. He _is_ upset. He’s just told Elio about the worst thing that ever happened to him in detail and his response is basically… ‘cheer up’?

That quietly betrayed, disappointed frown isn’t lost on Elio as his own expression begins to fade, but when Sadie comes back to pick them up and hail a cab it disappears into blankness, leaving Elio feeling something strange in his chest.

Uncomfortable with just sitting there stewing in it, he takes the lead in the taxi, giving the driver the address and taking on the duty of making polite conversation with him. 

Oliver, on the other hand, is only too willing to sit and think about what’s happened.

He might’ve been inclined to think that his problems just seemed small to Elio because his experiences when he was younger have made him more positive about life, but… Something about that rings so obviously false to him after tonight. 

Sure, it’s not healthy to dwell on things forever and never get over them, but it’s not healthy to just skip straight past thinking about them at all. 

How the hell did Elio get over what happened to him like this?

In the darkness of the car, as Elio plays absentmindedly with his fingers and makes conversation, Oliver looks up and studies his face. He studies his smiles, his tone, his small laughs when the driver says something funny… 

_You’re hiding something,_ Oliver thinks with sudden clarity. 

It’s not an angry, or suspicious, or upset thought… It soothes him. He’s known this without knowing it.

It’s not that Elio doesn’t care, or doesn’t understand grief, or pain… He’s hiding something he doesn’t want to dissect, even within himself.

Even as they go inside, and decide to watch Rocky Horror, and make jokes about who in the room is which character… Oliver can’t keep the thought out of his mind that Elio is hiding something.

As they leave Sadie’s place hours later sleepy and sober, as they brush their teeth and change into sleep clothes, as Elio curls up around him and mumbles a smiling goodnight… Oliver is still just picturing that sad blue-lipped little boy, and wondering what it is that’s made him like this.

Is it some kind of medical trauma, grief for his lost best friend, unacknowledged childhood depression?

He knew it was there from the first date, knew there was something somehow _complicating_ to Elio…

He just needs to find out exactly what it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say at the end of this one I don't think... 
> 
> As usual, comments really are so helpful to know what people think and feel motivated to write more ❤️❤️


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As their relationship becomes more serious Elio and Oliver's different views on how to deal with things become more apparent, and then one of Oliver's co-workers has something he needs to say...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends, not sure how I feel about this one but here it is yay
> 
> (Mournful folk song is ['Guard Your Man Weel'](https://youtu.be/UyBUYDvjcBY?t=26), apparently _from_ what used to be Northumbria but currently residing in my brain every day rent-free)

Weeks pass, and things progress in their relationship, and Oliver still doesn’t know exactly what Elio is hiding. Repressing is probably a better word, he thinks.

His positive presentation doesn’t seem to be a mask most of the time, and Oliver believes that he’s happy in his life _most_ of the time… but there are so many little moments he catches that create cracks in the façade, now that he looks for them.

He meets Elio’s parents a little over two months after their first date. 

They smile and kiss his cheeks and tell him how wonderful it is to ‘finally’ meet him as they cross his path leaving Elio’s apartment as he arrives… they’re exactly as Oliver imagined them from the picture – warm, elegant, _very_ European.

Before he knows it he’s had dinner with them and Elio in his childhood home, and he’s sitting with them in their living room watching highlights from their old home videos on their giant tv.

Oliver finds his eyes often glued to Elio’s face as he laughs at things his infant, then toddler, then childhood self is doing on screen – he seems genuinely happy, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles…

But then they reach the time when he was sick. You can tell as he starts to sicken and when it’s bad enough to get a diagnosis, and after that it’s clear that his parents began to film more during that time, though there are less funny moments to capture…

They were creating memories, for when he was gone. 

Oliver tries to hide how emotional the thought makes him as Elio’s parents coo, giving him doting looks as they remember the a difficult time less harshly for having made it through. Elio just smiles reassuringly for them until their gaze shifts back over to the screen.

And then he looks back down, his expression suddenly private and ever so slightly frowning as he searches the pattern on the pillow next to him – for what, Oliver doesn’t know. 

His breathing picks up slightly as he picks at it for a moment before Oliver rubs his hand comfortingly up and down where it’s positioned on his shoulder, reminding him that he’s there if he needs something…

Instantly his expression clears and he looks up as he gives another one of those comforting smiles – indistinguishable from the others he’s given tonight, except for the eyes. 

His eyes don’t crinkle in the same way they did before… his mouth forms the schooled shape of a happy smile, but his eyes are wide like he thinks he can fool Oliver if he just _looks_ open enough to hide how closed off he suddenly is.

The message isn’t personal, but all the same it’s clear to Oliver: _“You are not welcome to these emotions… because I don’t have them :)”_

 _Do his parents really not know,_ Oliver wonders. _How could they not know that there’s something so clearly still not dealt wi—_

“You were so brave through all of this, _tesoro,”_ his mother says fondly, interrupting the thought. “Even when it was frightening, you were always so brave and happy,” she tuts, giving him such a loving look it makes Oliver’s heart hurt.

His own mother was never going to know him as he truly was, but at least he _knew_ that – they knew they were never going to be close in the way Elio and his mother are because she didn’t _want_ to know…

Surely that makes Annella’s ignorance to the private workings of Elio’s mind worse?

How does she not know what Oliver has managed to at least halfway deduce after only a few months? 

As Elio smiles and plays bashful, it’s so clear to Oliver that he’s lying to them. Probably even lying to himself most of the time. Oliver will be the first to admit he hasn’t been the quickest to deal with what’s happened to him, but at least he’s acknowledged that there’s something to not talk about.

Oliver narrows his eyes slightly, surreptitiously watching Elio out of the corner of his eye for the rest of the footage for anything else that might give him an idea of where to dig for what’s being hidden…

But he doesn’t find anything. The mask stays up until the videos are clearly later in his life, and then it stops being a mask and the act becomes real again as he laughs at his middle school ‘awkward phase’. 

Oliver tries to keep an eye out for clues, but mostly they just enjoy spending time together. 

Elio will come over and try to play with Princess – to no avail – and they’ll either end up over at Sadie’s or in bed, where things have become much more active now that Oliver’s results have come back as clean as he expected.

That, or Oliver will visit him at work when he finishes a long day at the site and enjoy the unexpected safeness he feels within the store – though also the extreme discomfort of how comfortable Elio clearly feels with finishing a conversation when a customer is waiting to a make a purchase, on top of always closing early…

Usually Oliver is only too happy to escape into Elio’s company and have some light in his days as more time passes and the attitude at his work becomes more anxiety-inducing to him… but some days, he just wants to be able to feel down about that with Elio. 

And he just can’t.

He still has Sadie, and one of his co-workers named Dan has been more friendly with him lately, but sometimes he just wants to be able to go to Elio’s apartment, eat in near silence, and be in bed by eight-thirty; he doesn’t always _want_ to be cheered up, and it eats at him a little bit every time Elio insists on it. 

He can’t vent to him about his new boss or his bigoted co-workers without having his frustration dismissed and the bright side pointed out to him. He can’t talk about having to take money out of his savings for a new pair of work boots, or about how tired and down he feels at the end of some days without being ‘cheered up’. He can’t just _complain,_ about Princess waking him up in the middle of the night meowing for no reason…

He still has fun with Elio most of the time, he just…

He just wants to know more of Elio than what he’s been allowed to see. He wants to get to know him beyond just the fun. He wants to know the difficult, sad, messy part of him and _be there_ for that part – he’s never been in a real relationship but he knows that seeing someone’s hidden side is a huge part of it… 

Elio just wants to pretend that he doesn’t have one of those. 

In a way, Oliver supposes, Elio’s denial of the more difficult side of life, _is_ the messy side of him. This is the difficult, frustrating part of him that will take time and love for them to survive…

That’s often the thought that keeps him patient.

The difficult thing, as Elio catches on to the fact that Oliver isn’t entirely convinced by his act, is that they love each other already. Or they’re very, very close to it. It’s too early to say it, but the feeling has taken root and they’re both too entangled to pull away without something ripping now.

More than once Elio has caught himself lying awake at night, like he almost never used to, wondering how he can either somehow convince Oliver that there’s nothing deeper inside of him to look for, or drop him like he has with so many others before it’s gotten anywhere near this complicated…

But he can’t. 

He can’t drop Oliver, he’s the stupid bug that’s flown into the fly trap, and now it’ll probably hurt more to pull away than to stay, and he doesn’t want to hurt.

He tries his best to play Oliver’s game – to let him in enough to satisfy while keeping him at a safe distance – but every opening he gives he always tries to go deeper than Elio wants. 

He’s well practiced in it, but it’s exhausting trying to keep things from Oliver. He used to be so shy, but now that they’re _something,_ his hesitation has all but disappeared.

“Hey,” he says one night while they’re watching a movie. “Do you ever think about what happens when you die?”

_…Just going straight for it then, huh?_

“Nope,” Elio says, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“Not at all?” Oliver asks, instantly quietly frustrated. 

“Not really,” he dismisses, still not looking. “I don’t know, bearded man congratulating me on a life well lived? Afterlife, big family reunion… whatever,” he shrugs.

And Oliver doesn’t buy it – you don’t get a terminal diagnosis, even at ten, without thinking _hard_ about what’s going to happen to you…

But he doesn’t push it either, biding his time. 

A few days later they’re hanging out at the shop on a Thursday evening when Oliver comes out of the stacks with a book.

“Hey, have you ever read this?” he asks with a smile that’s not as innocent as he wants it to be.

“How to Talk to a Widower,” Elio reads off the cover flatly.

“Yeah,” Oliver says overly-encouragingly. “It’s about this guy whose wife died – obviously – and he’s got to take care of her teenage son from a previous marriage even though he’s not really ready because he was a lot younger than her and he’s still trying to deal with her being dead and stuff… It’s really good.”

Elio raises an eyebrow, trying to keep it light though Oliver’s probing and moping recently is beginning to bother him.

“Does that really seem like my kind of thing?” he asks doubtfully, hoping that’ll be enough to drop it.

“I mean…” Oliver trails off. “Not really, but I liked it when I read it in high school and I thought maybe you’d like it. You might be surprised; it’s kind of heavy sometimes but I remember the prose being pretty funny about it.”

Elio tilts his head. 

_Is Oliver really trying to sneak ‘heavy’ thought into my head through funny prose like a vegetable hidden in a mommy-blog cupcake?_

“Are you bothered by what I choose to read?” he asks defensively, holding Oliver’s gaze and allowing a hint of venom into his tone. “I’m too shallow for the future philosophy student, so I need to read some death book?”

Oliver’s eyes widen in precipitous devastation at the unexpected change in tone, feeling suddenly on the other side as he stutters. 

“N—no,” he finally gets out. “That’s not what I meant at all. Of course I don’t think you’re shallow, I just—” 

He seems to choke on his words for a moment while he’s trying to figure out how to fix it, but eventually he just sighs.

“…I just thought you might like parts of it,” he finally says in defeat, his voice small and his mission failed.

He feels like a piece of shit – he never wants Elio to think he thinks anything bad about him…

“Well, I don’t want to read about some guy’s dead wife,” Elio dismisses, hating being the cause of that look being on Oliver’s face, but needing to stop his unsubtle digging.

“Okay,” Oliver accepts quietly, his confidence shot as he turns to return the book. “Sorry, I just… I thought you might like it.”

At the sound of the defeat in his voice Elio relents, feeling safe enough to give some ground again – he doesn’t _want_ Oliver to feel bad…

“It’s fine,” he says honestly, glad to see Oliver look less cowed as he turns again. “I just… I don’t like heavy stuff, you know that.”

“I do,” Oliver acknowledges, somehow feeling worse for the softening of Elio’s tone.

He drags his feet a little as he goes back into the shelves to replace the book where it belongs, for the rest of their time together that day displaying anxious body language Elio hasn’t seen on him since the first few weeks he knew him.

He doesn’t like it, but he needs to protect himself – that’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re suddenly in deep with someone like this, right? Keep some boundaries and remain your own person?

Surely he can be forgiven for being a little bit harsh about it to keep his boundaries, right?

_Right._

When Oliver goes home hours later he’s still thinking about what happened. He turns down Sadie’s invitation to hang out and instead lies out on his couch, chewing his cheeks and playing the scenario over and over in his head and working himself up until eventually his anxiety abates again and he realises that Elio’s reaction was just designed to make him back off as quickly as possible.

As he comes around to the idea and distances himself from what he felt at the time, Oliver slowly recognises Elio’s defence mechanism; realises that his tactic _was_ a tactic.

He did it to protect a sore spot, but it still makes Oliver frown – he understands the reason behind the reaction, but that doesn’t mean it was reasonable.

He goes to bed feeling wrong about it all, tossing and turning all night and waking up at four in the morning unable to get back to sleep…

He continues to notice it more and more as time goes on. 

He notes when Elio abandons a supposedly close friend’s small birthday gathering in favour of watching Disney movies with him because she found out her grandmother had just passed and needed comfort from her friends that he couldn’t provide. 

He notes the way Elio ignores him talking about how Dan at the site nearly lost his brother to suicide recently, and the way he seems to insist that they escape into unrealistic fantasies of happy-ever-after in movies every time he begins to vent a little, smiling about how romantic it all is…

He especially notices it when Elio drags him around the city all day sampling all the foods he thinks he’ll like so he can ‘figure out his palate properly’. Only to later inform him with badly disguised relief that Luna will be coming home tomorrow because her fever is down after her surgery…

Why couldn’t Elio have just told him that was what he needed to be distracted from?

He even comes over to surprise Elio one day, to discover his bedroom door locked and what sounds like a folk song coming softly from within.

It doesn’t sound like his usual upbeat fare, so Oliver presses his ear against the door to hear the mournful song better…

 _“…mining work’s always the same…_  
_A stone from the slick_  
_Can fall down so quick_  
_And on blood there is written—”_

Oliver pulls back and frowns. 

It sounds Scottish, or thereabouts, and mournful; not something he’d ever expect Elio to listen to.

It isn’t finished, but suddenly the door is swinging open, revealing Elio holding that carved box and the terrible photograph it held, eyes wide and full of unshed tears.

“Oliver,” he says, a hint of panic edging his tone. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m uh… here to surprise you,” he says dumbly, caught off guard.

That makes two of them.

“Well… consider me surprised,” Elio laughs falsely, pushing past and replacing the photo in the box shakily, skipping the song on his phone and blinking furiously while Oliver is at his back and can’t see.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks, voice unsteady though he tries to keep it light.

“…Are you okay?” Oliver asks, brows drawn as he follows Elio to the table where he’s placing the box down.

“Yeah of course, I’m fine, it’s just… I just had something in my eye, I was coming out to try to get it out,” he explains hastily. “I think it’s gone now.”

_Nice save._

“Oh,” Oliver says, wary of digging further after last time but unwilling to let it go entirely. “…What was the song?”

“Oh, the one I was playing before?” Elio asks as he turns around, as though he didn’t _just_ press skip. “It’s just a song someone I knew when I was a kid used to play. I forgot how it went so I looked it up – not really my usual thing obviously,” he laughs.

It’s a hollow laugh.

“Oh. Who used to play it?” Oliver asks.

Elio looks almost serious at the question, his gaze stilling for a moment. 

“…Her name was Vimini,” he says in an unreadable voice.

Oliver is about half a second away from just sighing and asking him who he thinks he’s fooling, but upon seeing the look in his eyes Elio immediately takes a deep breath and starts babbling about wanting to get some new toys for Luna today and this new restaurant he wants to try and what movies they can maybe go see today if they book something now and has Oliver ever seen a movie at a premium place?

And then the moment of opportunity has passed, just like Elio wanted it to.

Oliver wants to push, but after last time… 

He has the energy to keep playing Elio’s game, for now, but the more time he spends with him over the weeks and months, the clearer it is how he could have had so many people in those photos on his walls – he clearly needs a constant stream of people coming in and out of his life so he never has to be there for anyone, and more importantly so nobody ever tries to be there for _him_ in a way that makes him uncomfortable. 

His best friend lives in Italy for god’s sake.

Oliver just hopes Elio doesn’t want keep _him_ so far away forever…

One Thursday, when the crew have a half-day and then the Friday off, somehow they all end up in a sports bar watching football. 

Only a few of them are friends so it’s unusual for them to do anything as a group, but there they find themselves.

Mostly Oliver keeps to himself as his workmates talk loudly about whatever is happening on the screen – honestly he would have much preferred to have gone straight home and spent the night with a book and a glass of wine, but he’s paranoid about being singled out somehow.

He doesn’t want to give them any opportunity to start prodding him.

So he sits in the corner and orders the same terrible beer they order and laughs when appropriate and tries not to think about the time and money he’s wasting here. He’s not having fun exactly, but it’s not torture at least.

The sun isn’t even down yet when the men become visibly intoxicated, their speech progressively getting louder and blurrier until the bartender tells them they have to quieten down or leave. A grumble goes around the group before they decide to move on to a more accommodating venue, downing their drinks and preparing to go. 

Thankful for the opportunity to split up, Oliver says he’s going to stay to finish his drink and then head home to his ‘girlfriend’, Sadie, prompting some of the rowdier guys to punch his shoulder and make suggestive noises before they head out.

It’s not the truth but she’s fine with it and it’s a good way to keep people off his scent.

In the end it’s just Oliver and Dan left sitting at the booth. 

Dan’s never overly talkative, but he’s pleasant company in Oliver’ opinion. They sit in companionable silence watching the screen for a while before Dan takes a breath and speaks.

“You really didn’t want to come along, did you?” he asks with a dry smile in his usual quiet way, nursing his third drink to Oliver’s second.

“Did you?” Oliver replies.

Dan laughs a little and says, “No, I hate those guys.”

And Oliver laughs at his bluntness, enjoying the sudden ease of conversation – maybe it’s the alcohol making it so easy, but he really does enjoy Dan’s company, as much as he can with anyone he doesn’t know particularly well since everything.

But then the mood changes and suddenly there’s tension in the air, quickly making Oliver nervous.

“Sadie’s uh… she’s not really your girlfriend, is she?” Dan asks slowly, as though unsure of how to broach the subject.

Oliver frowns, instantly on guard.

“Why would you think that?” he asks, feeling suddenly like he needs to run far, far away.

“Hey,” Dan placates, raising his hands in surrender. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, I just…” 

He sighs, waiting a moment before he speaks honestly. 

“…You just remind me of my brother a lot.”

Oliver pauses, confused.

“Your brother?”

“Mm,” Dan hums as he takes another sip, clearly out of his usual quiet element but needing to say something. “He also… feels differently about other men. It’s not all of it, but he says it was a big part of why did what he did, that he didn’t feel like he could talk about it.”

Oliver’s frown deepens as he prepares to defend himself, his body suddenly screaming _fight or flight._

“Dan, I don’t know what you think I—”

“I know this is weird,” he acknowledges, interrupting uncharacteristically.

And Oliver just freezes. All of his fears around being found out again bubble to the surface painfully like blisters as his neck gets hot and his palms begin to sweat… 

He wants to interrogate Dan about what he knows and who he’s told, but the fastest way to find out what he means to say is to just give in to his freezing and let him say it.

“I’ve just… I didn’t say anything at the time because it wasn’t my business,” Dan explains, looking into his drink to avoid eye contact. “But I saw you with a guy when I was passing by a book shop once, and you looked pretty close, and… Again, I know this is awkward, but—” 

_He saw us at the bookshop,_ Oliver thinks mournfully as Dan sighs. _I’ve felt so safe there… where can I feel safe with Elio now?_

“You seem kind of off lately,” Dan continues. “And after my brother, I just wanted you to know that even if most of the guys on the team are assholes that at least one person is on your side.” 

Dan takes another deep breath as though steeling himself, and flicks his gaze up briefly before looking back down.

“I just wanted you to know that I know, and that it’s fine. Because I know from talking to my brother that just one person saying something would have made a difference, even if it was awkward.”

Oliver just stares, his mind both racing and stalled entirely.

Dan doesn’t look back up after he’s finished talking, to put off seeing if he’s overstepped – he knew it was risky talking to another co-worker this way in this profession, but he couldn’t just let it go unsaid if he could help.

Oliver finds himself a fish out of water, gripping his glass like a lifeline as he tries to comprehend what’s been said and formulate some kind of appropriate response.

“Dan—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says instantly, retreating now that he’s gotten the words out. 

“No, I want to,” Oliver decides, taking his time to try to calm down and _think_ as much as he can with the anxiety that’s still making him tremble slightly.

It’s more personal than he would ever have wanted to get with anyone from his job, by a lot, but… with how much more toxic the environment there has felt since his new boss arrived, and how much harder it’s been to unwind from it without as much time to himself in the evenings…

This is uncomfortable. There’s no way it could not be. 

But it does help, to know that there’s someone at the site he doesn’t have to pretend for. 

Even if he still has to put on a show for everyone else to keep them off his back, he knows there’s _somebody_ there who cares – more than his parents did, anyway.

“I,” he begins. “I appreciate that you didn’t say anything about what you saw then… and I appreciate that you care enough to say something now.”

His shoulders are still tense as he replies, but slowly he begins to relax a little, exhausted from the sudden spike in anxiety.

“It has been harder lately,” he admits after a moment, looking into his drink the way Dan did before as the other man finally looks at him. “I’m okay though,” he reassures. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

 _It’s nice to say even that much to someone other than Sadie or Elio honestly,_ Oliver thinks. _It’s nice to think that someone else cares…_

He’s tried quite hard not to think about how much his circle of friends has shrunk since everything happened – how none of his old friends even _tried_ to contact him afterwards… 

It’s nice to know that Dan cared enough to say something despite how obviously uncomfortable it made him.

“You sure you’re okay?” Dan asks, noticing the look in his eyes as he thinks about it all in silence.

“Yeah,” Oliver says, shaking himself and running a hand through his hair. “Yeah I’m fine,” and then, quietly earnest, “…Thank you, for noticing. You’re right that it’s not the most comfortable thing to talk about between… you know, people like us, so… thank you.”

Oliver almost laughs at himself for the difference between the way he talks to workmates and people like Sadie and Elio, even when they know his secret.

“Well… glad I could help, man,” Dan says, shifting his demeanour back to his usual quiet gruffness now that he’s done what he needed to do – though he can’t quite keep a small, proud smile from tugging at the corners of his lips ever so slightly.

Downing the rest of his drink, he stands and gives a brusque nod before saying, “See you next week I guess,” and taking his leave with a farewell grunt, leaving Oliver suddenly alone, and suddenly exhausted by the conversation.

…Honestly, it’s taken it all out of him now that he’s by himself. He was denying things in his own way before Elio came along, ignoring how he felt about his job and his current prospects and just trying to get his savings up…

After learning that there’s somebody on his side even at the site… He’s just too tired to ignore anything or pretend for anyone right now. 

He’s too tired to convince himself that it’s okay that he wasn’t at April’s graduation, or to reply to Elio’s message asking to hang out tomorrow, or even to lift his heels off the ground fully as he makes his way home and shuffles to bed after feeding Princess. 

_Why don’t I have that with Elio,_ he wonders as he waits to drift off.

_Dan barely even knows me and he wanted to have that conversation, completely unbidden…_

And then as sleep takes him:

_God, I’m so fucking tired…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've forgotten to link my tumblr for ages, so for any newcomers I'm [jeffersonhairpin](https://jeffersonhairpin.tumblr.com) on tumblr as well and I'd love it if anyone came to talk shit with me because talking into the void is not ideal :')
> 
> The comments, they give me life, so please let me know if it's not terrible 😊 (My friend who used to read and tell me if it sucked has stopped reading my stuff lol)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything finally comes out...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it was already mostly done I thought I'd get this one out as quickly as possible :)
> 
> I hope it doesn't disappoint, it made me cry to write bits yikes

Oliver sleeps late the next day, but even after he wakes he’s content to just stay in bed all day ignoring the world and dozing quietly…

He manages to stay in bed until about ten before he hears a loud, insistent knock at the door. Groaning irritably, he drags his heels to the door and swings it open.

“I sent you like, a _million_ messages, you look like you just got out of bed,” Elio laughs, reaching up to ruffle his bed hair and entering the apartment with a bounce in his step.

Instantly Oliver just wants to go back to bed; this is already too much sunny disposition for him today.

“I _did_ just get out of bed,” he grumbles, closing the door and patting his hair back down.

“What’s up?” Elio asks, tilting his head. “You’re all grouchy when it’s such a beautiful day.”

Oliver resists the urge to roll his eyes – more often than not he does love Elio’s positivity and enthusiasm or he wouldn’t be with him, but sometimes… 

Today just isn’t the day for it. He needs some time to recharge and he can already feel that today is one of those days where Elio needs to be surrounded by energy.

As soon as he opens his mouth to say he just needs a relaxing day, however, Elio is turning around and pouring him a glass of water, saying, “I can already see that you’re going to say something to get out of enjoying the day. Drink this and have a shower and we’ll go out and you’ll feel better and then you can have a good day.”

 _If you didn’t want me to say what was up then why did you fucking ask?!_ Oliver’s mind screams, as Elio smiles and hands him the water.

It’s just easier to take the water with a tight smile and head to the shower than to say something – at least he’ll be alone there, and maybe he’ll be able to muster energy for the day. 

As the shower warms his tired muscles and refreshes him Oliver sighs and considers that maybe Elio is right. It _is_ nice outside, and before he arrived he fully intended to spend the whole day in bed ignoring everyone and everything… 

But as soon as he steps outside the bathroom, dressed and ready, Oliver knows that while it was a good idea to take the shower, he doesn’t feel up to a full day of this version of Elio – the one that comes out when he needs someone to perform for until he feels good.

When he needs someone to perform for _him._

First Elio drags him out on an extravagant shopping trip and completely ignores his protests whenever he insists he hates having money spent on him, and then they go to the museum again and Elio whines until he starts lecturing about the statues again, and _then_ they end up at Mafalda’s restaurant which Oliver feels horribly underdressed for and it’s not until Elio goes to the bathroom that he finally gets a chance to just sit and _be._

Immediately he sinks into exhaustion and heaviness, but it feels right, to experience it. He was supposed to be allowing himself to wallow today – Elio’s way of doing things is… just not for him. 

Elio’s phone buzzes on the table while he’s away and at first Oliver ignores it. But then he sees who the message is from and reconsiders. 

It’s not right to look at someone’s phone when they’re not there but… It’s not like there’s any other way to find out more about Elio, and Oliver is so _tired_ of trying.

Tilting his head to read Marzia’s message Oliver frowns.

_I know you don’t like anyone to say anything about today but… Vimini would be proud of you, Elio. She would be happy that you choose to celebrate her today instead of mourning._

…Vimini?

It dawns on Oliver that the anniversary of Vimini’s death is what Elio is ignoring right now – _that’s_ why he won’t stop babbling and spending and whining to be entertained today.

He deepens his frown, wishing desperately that Elio would have just told him what today was, would have _told_ him he needed comfort…

He flinches as he sees Elio coming back in the corner of his eye and tries to school his expression into something neutral but apparently he doesn’t succeed in time.

“What had _you_ looking so frowny?” Elio asks with a curious smile as he sits back down and takes a sip of his wine, his eyes slightly shiny with it.

 _Him choosing to split a bottle of wine should have been enough to tip me off that today wasn’t just the usual off day,_ Oliver broods to himself.

“Just thinking,” he lies, taking a sip of his own glass to avoid having to say more – he won’t be able to lie any better than that.

“I’ve warned you about that,” Elio jokes with a raised brow, and Oliver believes his easy nature in the moment – with how little he drinks, the wine has probably distracted him from what day it is sufficiently.

“Thinking is kind of necessary if I want to qualify for my degree,” Oliver replies weakly, slightly too late.

And Elio seems willing enough to believe him, dropping the subject to talk about his friend’s art show next week and this movie he wants to see. 

The dinner is thankfully nearing its end at that point, because Oliver really, noticeably, struggles to keep up the façade and reply naturally as they talk.

In the car on the way home he sees Elio check his phone, and he doesn’t miss the apprehensive look on his face or the way his eyes dart slightly in his direction after he reads the message, as though putting together why Oliver’s mood changed so suddenly while he was in the bathroom.

Oliver slumps a little at that, relieved at the thought of finally just having it out, unwilling to try much harder tonight… 

But naturally Elio doesn’t give up quite so easily.

At his apartment he puts on a movie and tries to initiate something a few minutes in, as though sex could make Oliver forget.

“Elio, no,” he says softly as the younger man mouths insistently at his neck on the couch.

Lying down watching a movie with Elio stretching out on top of him was fine, but he doesn’t have the desire or the will to play along with anything this involved right now.

“What’s wrong?” Elio asks, pulling back and planting another wine-scented kiss on his lips with an unconvincingly warm smile.

“I’m just not in the mood.”

And at that Elio finally huffs, pulling back and giving an irritated look as he mutters moodily.

“You haven’t been in the mood for _anything_ today. You haven’t been in the mood for anything for _weeks.”_

Oliver frowns, considering. He’s been trying to play the long game and making no progress, so if the wine has somehow loosened Elio’s tongue… 

They might as well have it out now.

“That’s not true,” he refutes, instantly equally annoyed as he sits up. “I’ve had fun doing lots of stuff with you recently – _we’ve_ had fun.”

“Yeah, because _I_ get us to have it,” Elio bites out as he stands and crosses his arms. “All you want to do half the time is mope about your boss or money or _whatever,_ when we could be hanging out making each other happy. Why do _I_ always have to put in the effort to set the tone?”

At that Oliver sits up straighter, offended at the implication that he’s the only one to blame.

“Well maybe if you actually allowed me to _be_ down about those things every once in a while you wouldn’t have to be constantly fighting to keep the mood up,” Oliver bites, too tired and pushed to hold it back.

“What does dwelling on those things _do?”_ Elio demands, his volume increasing with his frustration. “What’s the point in feeling sad about something in order to feel happy about it, when you can _choose_ to be happy in the first place, and just live!”

“Because you can’t live in _peace_ if you don’t deal with your _shit,_ Elio!” Oliver yells, finally losing his temper as he stands. “How can you relax? You can’t just _choose_ to be happy all the time, that’s such surface-level bullshit!”

“There it is again!” Elio exclaims, gesturing dramatically. “’Surface level’! You say you don’t think I’m shallow but it _keeps_ coming up!”

Oliver groans in frustration at that, running his hands through his hair.

_This again?_

“I don’t think you’re fucking _shallow,_ Elio. I think that you’d _rather_ be but you’re not and you want to ignore that,” he accuses. “You can’t just ignore things into going away! It’s so fucking childish, and that’s why it’s so _exhausting_ to be around you sometimes!”

It maybe comes out a little harsher at the end than Oliver means it to, but he doesn’t take it back.

“Oh,” Elio says with raised brows, trying to hide the sudden tremor in his voice behind crossed arms and a set jaw. “So I’m shallow, and childish, and exhausting to be around then? Why don’t you just add stupid too, since I don’t have all your intellectual philosophy books lining my walls? If you’re so unsatisfied by my company you can fucking _leave,_ Oliver.”

“I don’t _want_ to leave!” he yells imploringly, begging Elio to understand his meaning but leaving only silence in his wake. “I’m saying this because I want to _stay!”_

Elio has no reply, unsure of what he wants and processing slightly slower than he usually would with the small amount of alcohol he’s unused to having in his system.

It’s quieter, when Oliver speaks again.

“…I just want you to stop pushing me away when I get close to something that hurts you,” he says softly, the honesty of his statement clear in his tone.

Elio just isn’t quite ready to be so honest in return yet.

“Well I don’t want you to fucking hurt me,” he says sarcastically, though that trembling is still in his voice, his throat betraying him though his words do not. “Excuse me for not wanting someone who’s supposed to make me happy to prod at something that’ll hurt me.”

 _“It’s hurting you anyway!”_ Oliver exclaims.

His voice echoes in the space as Elio’s eyes begin to well with the unacknowledged truth of the words.

“Whether you admit it or pretend your life is perfect, you’re not about to cry because there’s _nothing wrong._ It’s just not real life to just be happy all the time – your life isn’t just happy ever after once you get over the biggest hurdle!”

_“It is for me, okay!”_

Elio loathes the feeling of tears beginning to roll down his cheeks as he yells, because _he doesn’t cry,_ but he keeps talking after. 

“I went through hell and I _lived,_ so I _get_ to be happy until—” 

He breathes a jagged breath. 

“I _deserve_ not to have to do this shit,” he says in that shaking voice he hates so much, desperately wiping his tears as though it could erase that Oliver has seen them. 

“It’s not about what you _deserve,”_ Oliver insists, echoing his thoughts weeks before. “It’s about what you _need,”_ he implores.

“I don’t _need_ to be sad!” Elio insists. _“You_ don’t need to be sad! I’ve been trying to help you realise that, and—”

“You don’t keep me from thinking about things that upset me for me,” Oliver says, triggering Elio’s eyes to spring more tears as his excuse is batted away. “I love you,” he says, “But you do it because there’s something you don’t want to think about, and I don’t know what it is because if you don't want to think about it you sure as shit don’t want to _talk_ about it.”

Elio searches but he has no words again, looking away at the accusation and trying in vain to will his tears to stop. He’s too overwhelmed to come up with a response, instead trying futilely to get himself back together.

But Oliver doesn’t want that.

“Why won’t you just let anyone be upset around you?” he pushes while he’s vulnerable, stepping forward to press his point as his volume steadily rises. “Why can’t you just _talk_ to me instead of dragging me around all day buying shit so you don’t have to think? Why can’t you watch a sad movie or read a sad book or _tell_ me when your fucking cat might be dying – why can’t you just _tell_ me that your best friend died today and that you need help with that? Why—”

 _“Because I’m fucking terrified!”_ Elio cries out, to stop the onslaught.

His voice is almost panicked, his hands instantly up to hide his face; to hide his fear of what he’s just let out into the air for the first time, and so loudly…

The tension in the room has finally snapped him.

The sound echoes into silence as Oliver drops all attack. His expression turns careful and tender as he approaches slowly, and pulls Elio’s hands from his face. 

Elio breathes a hitched breath, as his expression is revealed and Oliver speaks.

“Of what?” he asks gently, pulling him closer. “…What are you so afraid of?”

Elio just breathes for a few moments more as he buries his face in Oliver’s chest, hiding again… but eventually Oliver pulls back and makes him look up. 

“What are you terrified of?” he asks again, his brows drawn and his eyes searching.

Finally Elio looks up into his eyes.

“Of dying,” he croaks in a heartbroken voice as his right hand comes up almost unconsciously to his scar, like a comfort. Quickly it’s too much to hold Oliver’s eyes and he looks down, saying, “Fucking obviously, of dying…”

It’s not an accusation, just an expression of grief – it’s been such an unspoken fixture in Elio’s life for so long… how could it not be obvious?

Oliver’s brow furrows ever so slightly, not understanding. 

_…Isn’t everyone afraid of dying?_

He almost says something but stops himself as he opens his mouth, and instead guides them both back to the couch and turns off the television, leaving them in near-darkness as he wipes Elio’s face.

“But—” he starts again. “You said you believed, in—”

“I was lying,” Elio says in a low, honest voice, looking away again with drier cheeks. 

He’s never just outright told someone he lied to them about that.

“Elio, I—”

“Have you ever known you were going to die?” he interrupts. “I mean, _known_ it?”

Oliver doesn’t reply except to shake his head gently – he’s _felt_ like he was going to die, but he’s never known it the way Elio has. He’s never had it hanging over him as imminently as Elio has.

Elio sighs tiredly and rubs his forehead for a moment, both to steel himself mentally and to stop the tremor in his voice… he’s too tired to think of another way out of this, and so the only way is through. 

"Fuck," he gasps, laughing at himself.

Oliver just waits.

“Before I knew,” he begins, trying to figure out how to explain this to someone for the first time. “…I didn’t really know much about what I believed, except that my parents and I sometimes went to this building and we’d listen to someone speak in Hebrew and then we’d get ice-cream and go home.”

He huffs another laugh at the thought, bitterly envious of his younger self for his blissful ignorance.

“When everything happened and we were told that without a miracle I was just going to stop having a heartbeat one day – and probably soon – my parents…” 

Elio sniffs and looks up to try to stop the return of his unwanted tears as the memory resurfaces. 

“They took me to see our Rabbi,” he explains wetly, looking down at his fiddling hands. “So that he could explain to me properly the theology of how no matter what, it was going to be okay, because the worst thing that could happen to me was that I was going to be with god, and that he would take care of me until I could see my parents again one day… and they meant well. But the more he talked I just…”

He pauses for a moment before taking several watery breaths.

“Talking to him just made me realise that there was nowhere I was going. The things he was saying were _insane,_ I wasn’t _going_ anywhere… I was just going to die.”

The words sit heavy in the air for a moment while Oliver tries to think of what to say to that, but Elio just keeps talking, wiping his nose on his sleeve and refusing to meet his gaze.

“And I’d known Vimini for a while before, but after that she was the only person I could talk to about it who wouldn’t try to convince me otherwise, because she knew it too. We got really close and then… she died. I didn’t even get to say goodbye, she was just _gone,_ and that was what was going to happen to me – if she’d lived longer we might both have been candidates for the same transplant and it might have been me that just went away…

“I would have panic attacks every time I was about to pass out because I knew that could be the time my heart just stopped, but my parents just thought it was part of passing out. They had no idea and there was no one whose heart I wouldn’t break by telling the truth, so I just didn’t talk to anyone about it and pretended for my parents until…”

Elio sniffs.

“Until one day I wasn’t going to die anymore,” he shrugs jerkily, his voice high and trembling. “And I was supposed to be happy that I’d made it – and I was, _mostly_ I was, but… I was still going to die one day. I was still not going anywhere, just… later.”

As though trying to soften things somehow, Oliver says, “I don’t know if I believe that.” 

And Elio swallows back a scoff through his tears.

How could that make a difference?

“Well I _do,”_ he asserts, tone unforgiving, before saying with terrible certainty, “And it’s never going to stop being real. The only thing stopping me from dying next week or next month is my medication, _and_ my doctors getting it right, _and_ me not getting sick and taking care of myself properly, and even if I do _everything_ right, it’s still going to happen eventually. Probably sooner than for most people… sooner than you.”

Elio shrugs again, still not meeting Oliver’s eyes.

“And I’m never going to be ready for it so I don’t think about it,” he muses softly. “I’d be _so scared,_ every day, if I let myself think about it, so I just… don’t. I’ve gotten so good at pretending that even my dreams are good most of the time,” he laughs wetly, wiping his eyes. “It wasn’t always that way.”

“Elio…” Oliver says, brows still drawn. “That’s…”

“It’s a good life,” he shrugs and gestures at the beautiful apartment around him as though making excuses, before laughing once more, voice growing thick again as he wipes away more tears and continues. “I guess that’s the problem, isn’t it?” 

Elio isn’t sure how much time passes in terrible silence before Oliver finally reaches out and takes his hand, but when he looks up his all traces of his laughter are gone and his cheeks are wet again. 

He hates the look he sees in Oliver’s eyes. He hates the devastation there. He hates what it could mean for his future and the way Oliver sees him.

“It’s already ruined everything,” he whispers before Oliver can speak. “…Please don’t let it ruin this? You know why I do things now, can we please just go back to before?”

Oliver’s brows draw together in sympathy, but he shakes his head.

“No,” he says softly, as though he’s sorry. “We can’t go back.”

“Why not?” Elio cries, in futility, as Oliver takes him in his arms and he allows himself to cry freely, now that he doesn’t need to hold himself together to speak.

He feels ridiculous for crying so hard about something that happened so long ago, but… it’s just built up for so long. 

It’s not really something that ‘happened’, years ago; it’s still happening, every day. 

Every day since, and for the rest of his life.

At some point he’s not even crying about one specific thing, he’s just grieving. 

Oliver doesn’t hush him as he cries, but allows him to let out his years of fear and denial and unspoken pain… He’s only known Elio for a few months, but he doesn’t know how such a gaping wound has gone unnoticed.

Perhaps his parents and Marzia just don’t remember him any other way.

“It’ll be okay,” is all that Oliver murmurs gently as he waits it out, eventually standing them up and steering Elio towards the bedroom – his grief is far from done with him and Oliver is certain that Elio is going to need help to unpack everything for a long time, but he needs softness right now.

Softness of emotion, softness of surroundings, softness around the edges of time as sleep closes in…

“…You said you loved me,” Elio says quietly as he trembles in Oliver’s arms under the covers – for once being held instead of doing the holding.

“I did,” Oliver replies uncertainly.

“You said you loved me, and I didn’t say it back,” Elio whimpers. “I do love you,” he says, turning his head to face Oliver. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone I’ve known for such a short time.”

“I love you too,” Oliver says with a smile.

“You already said that,” Elio says with an unsteady laugh, unsure if it’s going to turn into more laughter or more tears.

But in the end the tears win out as he curls up and Oliver’s arms tighten around him in response. 

“I hate this,” he cries softly. 

“I know – I’m sorry.”

“How did you undo everything so quickly? I hate it.”

“I don’t know,” Oliver sighs, kissing his neck and holding him ever closer. “It’ll be okay.”

“No it won’t,” Elio cries faintly again…

It continues like this into the night, until finally Elio is too tired to cry any more.

Some time later Oliver feels some movement from his arms, eventually realising that Elio is running a finger up and down the scar on his chest again.

In that moment it occurs to him that it really _is_ a comfort to Elio. A gesture that soothes him that he subdues around other people.

And he’s allowing Oliver to see it now.

He places his hand over Elio’s and weaves their fingers together, hoping his action can communicate what his words so often fail to.

He’s sure he’s succeeded, when Elio lets out a soft sigh and repositions his head on his pillow as though preparing to sleep. But he breathes one last tragic sentiment into the darkness before he lets go.

“I wonder what I’d be like if none of this had happened to me…” he murmurs softly.

And Oliver has no response to that. He didn’t know Elio before. How could he know what he would be like?

Maybe he’d spend less, cry more? Maybe he’d eat bacon in the mornings and hate Disney movies with a passion; drink with the best of them and sleep in late without his medication schedule to wake him up… 

Who knows?

They'll never know.

As Elio slowly drifts off without a reply Oliver struggles to find his own rest. 

He wonders whether he’s prepared to help deal with everything he’s just pulled out.

He wonders whether he can help, with his own grief feeling less and less adequate a guide to Elio’s with every passing moment. 

He wonders how he could have questioned whether Elio was dealing with medical trauma, the loss of his best friend, or unacknowledged childhood depression, when it’s so clear now that it was _all_ of those things…

Maybe everyone knows they’re going to die, but Elio’s pain is the pain of a child who knew it too soon.

Oliver’s mind ticks on until finally the birds start singing, when exhaustion takes him under. 

Though even then his sleep is not restful.

When he awakens he hears Elio in the kitchen.

It’s unusual for him to cook himself instead of ordering delivery, but Oliver decides to approach the change with cautious optimism – at least he’s not playing one of his upbeat playlists and pretending nothing happened.

“Hey,” he says hesitantly as he pads into the kitchen.

Elio turns from where it seems he’s frying some eggs and tomato in a pan.

“Hey,” he says back, before dropping his eyes as though not knowing what else to say and turning back. “I was just about to come get you.”

“…Did you sleep okay?” Oliver asks as he approaches, for lack of a better question.

“Don’t think so,” Elio shrugs. “Bad dreams.”

Oliver sighs.

“Can you turn around?”

“I’m almost done, just let me put these on some toast and we can talk at the table.”

Oliver does as asked and sits down at the table, studying how clean the apartment is compared to when they went to bed. It’s always _clean,_ but the million items Elio bought yesterday have been put away and he’s certain he’s given the entire place a onceover… how long has he been up?

Elio places the food on the squeaky clean table and starts counting out his medication like he always does: once and then again before taking them all in quick succession, with a little sip of water at the very end. 

“Aren’t you going to eat?” he asks as he picks up his knife and fork and cuts into his food.

“Aren’t we going to talk?” Oliver rebuts after picking up his own cutlery and taking a bite.

“We can if you want,” Elio shrugs.

Oliver raises doubtful brows. 

“Don’t you want to? I kind of got the impression you’d never told anyone what you told me last night.”

“I haven’t,” Elio acknowledges. “What is there to talk about though?”

“I don’t know,” Oliver says, trying to hide his frustration. “…Trauma?”

“I’m not _traumatised,”_ Elio says, rolling his eyes to deflect.

“Call it what you want, but you didn’t go to sleep crying in my arms last night because everything is fine,” Oliver deadpans.

Elio’s attitude disappears at that, as he drops his cutlery and sighs.

“Okay,” he gives. “Maybe everything isn’t okay. And I guess I’m glad you know – if I were to tell anyone, I’m glad it was you.”

 _Because you can drop me like you can’t drop your parents if I try to help,_ Oliver thinks, though he gives no indication of it.

Elio leans his head to catch his eye in the silence after his words, giving an unreadably weary look incompatible with his nineteen years. It shuts down Oliver’s snarky thought.

“You want to talk about it now,” he says, maintaining that stare. “We can talk about it at some point. But Diego will be here to pick us up soon and I’ve been like this since I was ten… What could you _possibly_ say to me in the next few minutes that would make me feel better?”

Oliver doesn’t even try to think of a reply. 

He has no idea what he wants to say, or if he’s even qualified to say anything, unsure of whether he wants to convince Elio that he _will_ be going somewhere or help him be okay with the thought of _not_ going anywhere…

All he can think to say is, “Okay,” before he pushes his plate away and heads towards the shower. 

The conversation seems over, and he wasn’t really hungry anyway.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Elio asks uncertainly from the table, sounding suddenly so much like a child that Oliver wonders if he imagined the ancient look in his eyes moments ago.

“No,” he says gently, turning around so Elio can see the honesty in his eyes. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Just disappointed?” Elio asks with a tentative smile.

“Not disappointed either,” Oliver says with a small matching smile before he disappears into the bathroom, leaving the conversation behind him.

He spends perhaps a little more time in there than is polite in another person’s shower, but he’s sure Elio can afford the bill. It helps him relax and gives him a moment to fully absorb the surging progress they made yesterday, all in one night.

He hated seeing Elio cry, but it needed to happen, and it was such blinding honesty when it all came out…

Maybe they just don’t talk about it for today – he’s okay with that.

Elio has let him in so much further than he thought he would, and Oliver can’t help but smile at that. Elio said they can talk about it at some point, and that's enough for today.

He’s wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday but he still feels fresh as he emerges, still smiling.

He strides over to where Elio is rinsing off the plates and wraps his arms around him from behind, still grinning as he kisses his cheek and sways them side to side.

“Were you smoking weed in there or something?” Elio laughs, pleasantly surprised.

“No,” Oliver sighs, breathing in Elio’s own freshly washed scent. “Just happy.”

Elio pauses for a moment, unsure of how he wants to respond.

He was so afraid that Oliver wouldn’t let it go, would make _everything_ about what he told him last night, wouldn’t let them do anything mindlessly happy without thinking it was a deflection…

He’s so happy to see that Oliver is happy today. 

“I’m happy you’re happy,” he says, echoing his thoughts as Oliver turns him around and kisses him.

He hums as he pulls back, eyes suddenly tender.

“I love you,” he says, wanting to hear Elio say it back without tears on his cheeks.

“I love you too,” Elio replies instantly, smiling up at him.

And Oliver takes a moment to enjoy the genuine joy in Elio’s eyes, hoping never to see false joy there ever again…

Before immediately snapping himself out of it, knowing that Elio probably has something planned if Diego is waiting downstairs - it won't last forever but they're happy today.

“So, what are we doing today?”

“Oh! We’re seeing that movie I mentioned yesterday – do you like Kate Winslet?”

“I surely do.”

“Well apparently she’s really good in it, I read some reviews and everyone said it's really funny...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it ☺️ I wasn't sure if it was as impactful as I wanted it to be??
> 
> Let me know if it did anything for you in the comments ❤️❤️ (Or at jeffersonhairpin on tumblr if you want to dm ☺️)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio and Oliver spend a lot of time cuddling on the couch and learning more about one another, and more comes out from the past...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, I think I got this out okay? It's a bit short but I think I like it  
> (Oliver's love of Titanic comes from Armie's lol)
> 
> Also, referenced song links:  
> [Right Back Where We Started](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WhgY4Te0uFs)  
> [Canned Heat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vE4VlA_9OrI)  
> [Perfect Day](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9wxI4KK9ZYo)  
> [Vienna](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wccRif2DaGs)

After everything, eventually they do have a discussion about Elio entertaining Oliver’s way of doing things, at least to try. It’s clearly a foreign notion to him, but he reluctantly promises to try to just say so when he’s having a bad day. 

Oliver is still surprised the first time he actually does it, when he goes over to the penthouse apartment one evening two weeks later.

At first he attempts his usual routine of trying to smile and move around until he feels better, but when an unimpressed Oliver just stares after his overenthusiastic suggestion that they go to a friend of a friend’s party he might have heard about he gives a sigh and slumps a little.

“Okay,” he concedes grudgingly. “I had horrible dreams last night and it’s been hard to forget about them. I don’t really want to talk about it, but I won’t pretend it didn’t happen – happy?”

Oliver likes his admission, but doesn’t like his tone at the end, raising a brow.

“Are _you?”_

“…No,” Elio grumbles, hating acknowledging it. 

“Okay,” Oliver nods encouragingly. “So maybe we don’t go to a party and smile until our cheeks hurt, and instead we order pizza and cuddle while we watch a comforting movie?”

“…Okay,” Elio gripes after a moment, turning around and heading to his room to change into the cosy pyjamas he wore at Oliver’s apartment that first time. “No pizza though,” he calls over his shoulder, unwilling to yield that much. 

Oliver laughs quietly to himself but accepts it as a victory.

When Elio comes back looking just as fluffy as the first time, they sit down to watch _The Jungle Book._ He’s determined to get him to finally watch _Titanic_ one day, but one step at a time.

Elio can basically recite the movie word for word, imitating the voices and singing along softly to the music with a real smile on his face – so much more real than the one Oliver would have seen on his face at a party full of strangers tonight. 

He knows if they’d continued like it was before that the night would have ended with Elio exhausting him, and himself getting at least a little drunk to get through it without saying something… 

This is much better.

As Elio goes on mouthing the words on screen Oliver wonders why he keeps watching so many of the same movies over and over, and it occurs to him that it’s probably in some way to revisit a time before his health – and by extension his grip on life – felt so fragile to him. 

_Doesn’t everybody want to return to their childhood a little bit,_ Oliver’s mind suggests.

Quickly he decides that the answer is no, though. 

He doesn’t miss his own childhood – at least not the early parts when he would have been watching movies like this… He had only his unfriendly older brother, his stern parents, and the already-entitled kids he was surrounded by at school to interact with then.

He doesn’t feel the need to return to this part of his life at all.

In that moment he’s glad he took the time to understand Elio – to trust his instinct that his tastes weren’t a sign that he was childish at all… just perhaps a sign that he missed when he was.

Suddenly curious about Elio’s past relationships, where he hasn’t allowed the other person to learn these things about him, Oliver decides to dip his toe into those waters in the calm.

“Hey, how many people have you been with?” he asks as the credits begin to roll.

“…Are you asking my body count?” Elio says with a scrunched nose and an amused smile.

“No,” Oliver laughs. “I meant how many people you’ve gone _out_ with.”

“Hm…” Elio considers. “I mean, I’ve gone _out_ often, but not _gone out_ with many people. I’ve asked a lot of people out, been out a few times with the same person… guys and girls. Only one or two worth mentioning though.”

Oliver tries not to react in the moment.

He’s suspected that Elio wasn’t gay but somehow it’s never really been discussed, only vaguely implied. 

He doesn’t care who else his partner admires the way some people do, but despite his suspicions it still surprises him – he can’t picture Elio being captivated by a woman, lusting after a woman, having sex with a woman…

Of course it’s not all about lust or sex but it’s the first thought that strikes him, and it throws him off balance.

His second reaction is harder to mask: sudden, _burning_ envy, and unwarranted anger. 

_Elio,_ who has the most supportive, if oblivious, parents in the world, can swing whichever way he feels and follow whomever catches his eye, but _Oliver,_ with the life-ruiningly bigoted parents can somehow _only_ swing in the one direction they find so abhorrent.

He was prepared to lie to his parents from the moment he realised that he felt about boys the way he was supposed to feel about girls. He was prepared to find ‘girlfriends’ who would understand his situation because they were in the same boat and just pretend, at least until he was on his feet enough to tell the truth… 

But he knew in the back of his mind that he was most likely going to hear his parents tell him he was no son of theirs in one way or another eventually.

He would have _killed_ to have had the option of just completely ignoring and repressing half of his sexuality and marrying a woman one day, and here Elio is wandering about his life with no career ambition to need the money for, no need to marry anyone any time soon, barely a limit on his credit card and no sign of his parents’ love ever wavering…

It bothers Oliver for a moment. 

He can’t keep a small frown off his face at the thought.

…And yet.

Despite every privilege Elio has, despite how many things he has that Oliver secretly envies… there’s still that spectre that follows him every single day – every waking moment.

It seems like he’s free from every consequence in life except the one he fears most.

Oliver’s rage cools at the thought, his brow smoothing and his mind returning to the present moment as he recognises how terrible an anger that would be to hold onto.

He realises that he can never begin to compare his life to Elio’s… it’s not fair to either of them, and it doesn’t help anyone. He’s tried never to feel sorry for himself where he can help it, and he’s not about to start doing it now.

He realises as his feelings settle that Elio has been talking the entire time he’s been thinking; giving out precisely the information he was asking about in the first place.

_Damn._

“…good, but it was only a few months before she started… you know, prodding. It’s not the only reason why, but I feel like women tend to see that stuff sooner, so I’ve mostly dated guys,” he admits, unexpectedly honest as Oliver realises what he means.

“Well now you’re just making me feel un-special,” he jokes, nudging him. “You thought I was too unobservant to prod?” 

“You’re special,” Elio protests with a genuine, if slightly weighed-down smile. “I let you prod, eventually. If you weren’t observant and special we’d be at Mason’s friend’s house right now, or we wouldn’t…”

Elio trails off, unwilling to finish his sentence.

Oliver finishes it for him.

“Or we wouldn’t be together,” he says gently, before leaning over and brushing his nose against Elio’s briefly.

“We wouldn’t be together if you weren’t special enough that I was scared to lose you,” Elio agrees quietly, shifting in Oliver’s arms to get impossibly closer.

And as Oliver noses his neck gently in return, it feels like another step towards something better. They really have gotten so much closer in such a short time, since that night.

“You act differently now than you did when I met you,” Oliver murmurs softly after a long, thoughtful pause as he begins to feel the pull of sleep after another long day.

And it’s true – Elio is still as conversational as ever he was but he’s okay with silence, and the soft seriousness that sometimes comes up between them, in a way he wasn’t at first. 

He’s not performing for Oliver anymore.

“You’re different too,” Elio hums. “You’re not nervous around me anymore… I like it.”

“Your confidence used to make me feel kind of small,” Oliver confesses sheepishly. “I liked who you were, but I wasn’t sure how it made me feel to be around you.”

Elio gives a small, thoughtful huff at that.

“I assume you like how you feel around me now?”

“I do,” Oliver smiles, but Elio has gotten thinking.

“What was your first impression of me?” he asks curiously, playing with the hair on Oliver’s arm around him.

Oliver is silent for a little too long before saying, “…Honestly?”

Elio sits up and turns around, surprise in his eyes.

“Well, I want honesty _now,”_ he exclaims, studying his boyfriend with amused curiosity – and desperation for new information about himself from the outside.

Oliver blushes a little, looking down and thinking before he speaks.

Truthfully he’s still a little bothered by how unafraid to get fired Elio is, and that uncaring attitude about his work is a part of what his first impression was… 

He’ll just stick to the parts of it he can work into a joke though.

“Honestly I thought you were kind of rude,” he finally admits. “At first.”

 _“Rude?”_ Elio asks with wide eyes, slapping his chest, hard. “I gave you a compliment! How is that _rude?”_

“Not that,” Oliver disagrees, shaking his head and laughing. “That part freaked me out—”

“—Of course it did—”

“—But I thought you were rude because you just raised your finger and told me to wait when I got to the counter, without even looking up.”

Elio punches Oliver’s shoulder.

“They killed the _main character,_ I was _invested!”_

“Stop hitting me!” Oliver laughs as he raises his arms in defence. “That was just the _first_ impression, okay? I went on a date with you didn’t I?”

Elio pouts and crosses his arms, though it’s clear he doesn’t mean it.

“Whatever,” he grumbles. “My first impression of _you_ was that you were a scared little kitten in the body of a Greek god.”

“I think you’ll find it was a _Norse_ god you compared me to,” Oliver says with a smirk.

“Oh and still such a shy and modest kitten,” Elio coos sarcastically, leaning up for a kiss.

“Always,” Oliver snorts. “My older brother would never have let me get too cocky.” 

”Siblings honestly sound terrible,” Elio says around a yawn.

“Oh?” Oliver asks in faux-curiosity, taking the yawn as a cue and shifting Elio in his arms so they can get up and get ready for bed.

“Yeah, they make you have to share your stuff, share your parents… I liked being special,” the younger man smiles impishly as they stand.

“I believe that,” Oliver replies with a roll of his eyes, taking Elio’s hand and steering them towards the bathroom.

As they lie in bed wrapped up in each other later Elio murmurs into the dark.

“You’re much better at this talking stuff than me, for the one who’s never been with anyone before.”

“I guess I’m a natural prodder,” Oliver says with a slow grin, too happy with their progress to keep from leaning over to peck Elio’s lips.

“Thanks, I hate it,” the smaller man ribs, as he closes his eyes and takes a moment to enjoy the warmth surrounding him.

Truthfully, he doesn’t hate that Oliver expects him to share now, the way he thought he would.

It’s nice being with Oliver – his laugh is still as intoxicating as the first time, his eyes still as captivating, his scent still as appealing after his long days…

Though Elio knows better than to think it comes from shovelling dirt all day now, as Oliver explained after that very intoxicating laugh rang out one afternoon…

Elio doesn’t always talk when he’s bothered, but at least he’s honest about it now.

 _‘I guess today_ was _harder,’_ isn’t uncommon, but neither is, _‘Will you just let it_ be? _I don’t want to talk about it.’_

Oliver doesn’t take it personally. He takes it all in stride as best he can – he knew Elio wasn’t suddenly going to be a whole new person with new ways to deal with things after one big breakthrough.

And he wouldn’t want Elio to be a whole new person anyway.

He doesn’t always want to talk about his own feelings but at least he doesn’t stop Oliver from talking about his anymore, and that helps them a lot.

Things are easier as he finds himself able to go to Elio’s after a long day and talk about the terrible things he heard his boss or his workmates say, or complain about the cement dust he finds _everywhere_ now when he showers, or talk about how he picks his nails so much not only because he’s often anxious, but also because he fears ending up with the nails he sees on so many of his older co-workers…

He finds himself sharing more of the wine that arrives at his door with Sadie as he’s allowed to vent to wind down, finds himself able to smile and laugh more, finds himself more willing to just shake his head affectionately and comb his hair before going out to a nice restaurant on the days when Elio just wants to fake it until he makes it to something like happiness…

He’s still not entirely content – still has days where he feels nothing but rage at the world for delaying his dreams for _years,_ for taking his best friend and only sister from him, for taking away the person he used to be…

But it’s not so bad. Overall, ‘it’s a good life’, to quote Elio. 

He knows they’re on their way to helping one another live better lives, as they begin sending one another songs.

Oliver finally relents and allows Elio to buy him an iPhone to do so on the condition that he lets him pay the bill on it and promises not to do anything too extravagant for his birthday – a deal to which Elio _suspiciously_ happily agrees.

Elio tends to send songs he wants Oliver to dance to in the mornings – upbeat classics like _Right Back Where We Started,_ and _Canned Heat_ … Oliver tends to send the songs he listens to when he can’t sleep, or when he needs to relax after work – slower tunes like _Perfect Day_ , or _Vienna_ by Billy Joel…

After the fifth song in a row with an air of quietly miserable comradery Elio ends up texting an only semi-joking, _‘are you sure you’re not depressed lol’._

Oliver texts back something sarcastic he doesn’t remember, but honestly…

It’s only since he’s been happier with Elio that he’s beginning to see that he probably _was_ experiencing some kind of low-grade depression before they met. It was always so quiet whenever Sadie wasn’t around…

They can always agree on some smooth Norah Jones when they’re together anyway.

It’s not _all_ moving forward and surprising ease as the weather gets colder and autumn deepens but largely it is, to Oliver’s surprise.

There are the moments in the mornings when he watches Elio almost compulsively count and then recount his medications despite the fact that he knows their shapes, colours, and quantities like the back of his hand – sometimes three times – and Oliver worries about whether they should be talking about it…

But then Elio smiles like he doesn’t even know how it looks and tells him a funny story he’s just remembered, and it’s easy to feel like everything will work out in the end.

It’s easy to begin to see it as normal the way Elio does – and Oliver still gets nervous when he has to talk to the cashier at the grocery store or decide where to sit on a half-full train anyway, so he figures he’s not in any position to judge.

Elio has lived the way he has for too long for Oliver to think he can reverse it all in a few weeks or months; though he figures they’re making progress when Elio finally agrees to watch at least the first two episodes of Sadie’s show after weeks of prodding. 

And so they find themselves sitting in front of Elio’s giant tv watching Sarah Michelle Gellar slay vampires with a giant bowl of popcorn.

Said popcorn was made with the appropriate mountains of butter and salt and Elio is still eating it by the handful which Oliver counts among his new wins in trying to get him to relax his overzealous health regime a little in the name of enjoying life.

Predictably, Elio isn’t used to the horror elements of each episode and chooses to cuddle up and watch through squinted eyes when they come around – though overall he seems to thoroughly enjoy how absurdly nineties it all is.

Oliver thinks it’s going well overall until towards the end, when Elio starts to look away from the screen with a dejected expression. As the credits begin, Oliver turns to look at him with a questioning expression.

“You didn’t like the last bit, huh?”

Elio looks about, considering, before he speaks.

“I don’t know, I’ve already kind of had something on my mind today, but…” He frowns. “They couldn’t have saved any of them?” 

Oliver tilts his head and pauses the credits, confused.

“You mean the vampires?”

“Yeah,” Elio shrugs. “I mean, Jesse was just a kid who thought he was going to get laid, he didn’t ask to be one of them… There’s no way to save them? They all just have to die?”

“Well…” Oliver says slowly. “It’s kind of a spoiler, but there _are_ a couple of ways to ensoul a vampire after they’ve been changed.”

“Like Angel?” Elio asks in a small voice.

“Yeah, like Angel,” Oliver agrees, leaning over to see his expression. “What’s wrong? We don’t have to watch any more you don’t want.”

“Maybe later – I didn’t hate it, it’s just…”

As Elio trails off the silence drags on a little too long.

“What is it?” Oliver asks gently.

Elio frowns, and looks down to his now-fiddling hands.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks softly, not looking Oliver’s way.

“Of course,” the older man replies, open but wary.

He enjoys asking questions of Elio and getting honest answers now that they’ve cracked the thick ice built up over the years, but occasionally Elio will volunteer something on his own that surprises him…

Or sometimes, breaks his heart. He suspects he knows which one this will be.

Elio shifts on the couch until he’s sitting on the other side with his legs crossed, facing Oliver but still not meeting his gaze as he stares at his fingers.

“I uh,” he begins, frowning briefly. “This is probably kind of out of left field, but like I said it’s been on my mind today and I can’t think of a time to bring it up that _would_ make sense, so I’m just gonna start talking.”

Elio looks up briefly, just long enough to see Oliver nod, and then look back down.

“In high school I kind of… got someone pregnant once?” he says as though asking a question.

It feels like all his nerve endings are suddenly livewires, upon having spoken the words aloud. He’s never told anyone, other than his parents at the time.

His fingers are shaking.

Oliver is too shocked to have any real reaction; he wasn’t expecting this at all. He doesn’t see Elio’s eyes dart upwards once more to take in his carefully blank expression before he continues, figuring the only way is forward now.

“We were almost seventeen. She told me that her parents were going to kill her but that she was going to keep it – she was pretty Catholic then,” he explains. “And I… was happy about it. Weirdly,” he frowns again.

It surprises him how much it still stings to think about it. 

“We were never going to be together or anything but once I got over what a colossal fuck up it was, I kind of liked the idea of… of raising someone. And leaving something behind even if I did die,” he says. “I liked the idea of raising someone who was unafraid in all of the ways that I was afraid… And I think that made me less afraid, for a while.”

Elio pauses to swallow then, and Oliver’s mind is racing – is this Elio’s way of telling him that he has a secret child? His way of telling him that he _wants_ a child? 

He’s right, this is out of left field… What brought this on for him?

“Anyway,” Elio says, clearing his throat. “I told my parents and they weren’t thrilled, obviously, but I knew they’d be there for me, and they were. We started preparing and talking about how things were going to work with school and with the girl and her parents and I was looking forward to meeting the kid one day and then… A month later she just told me that something had happened, and it was gone.”

Elio shrugs. 

His eyes don’t fill, but he has to bite his bottom lip to keep it still.

“I, uh,” he continues, not looking at Oliver’s reaction. “I don’t know if it was a miscarriage or if she went to a clinic and just told me she miscarried – I would have gone with whatever she wanted from the start, it just… It just sucked that I’d accepted it by then. I’d started getting ready, and gotten to a place where I was actually happy about it, and then…”

Oliver can’t keep his brows from drawing together at the mixture of despondency and acceptance in Elio’s voice – and at how ‘it sucked’ seems like such an understatement.

“Elio—”

“I’m sure I would have screwed it up somehow,” Elio shrugs, resigned. “But it was a nice thought for me. There was this whole future where I helped raise this person and gave them all the good parts of me and made them whole in all the ways I’m not, and then it was just… gone.”

Oliver doesn’t try to speak this time, leaving the silence for Elio to fill as his eyes finally grow wet.

He’s always at a loss at how Elio can seem so young in some ways and then suddenly have such grief come pouring out of him when he least expects it.

“I guess I was just thinking about it with those kids dying,” he murmurs after a moment. “Everyone seems so young; life is so… _brittle._ It just feels like there’s no _time_ to be upset about things.”

It occurs to Oliver in the quiet following Elio’s confession that he’s in the habit of being so careful now not only because he fears contracting someone else’s disease, but also because he wouldn’t want to repeat these events. 

He wouldn’t want to start something like that again, with a woman who didn’t want to see it through with him.

“…Was it Marzia?” Oliver finally asks.

Elio huffs, still not meeting his gaze. “Is it obvious?”

“No,” Oliver says softly. “Just a hunch. You don’t see much of each other, but you’re still best friends… It just seems like you’ve been through things together. ”

He moves closer to Elio on the couch, and guides him gently by his chin until he’s looking him in the eyes.

“Hey,” he says gently, “Thank you for telling me.”

He only hopes that the depth and breadth of what he feels in the moment is conveyed. 

Elio looks away again before he says anything, but when he does, he doesn’t need to meet Oliver’s eyes for his own meaning to be heard.

“Thank you for being someone I wanted to tell,” he almost whispers, before leaning over to allow Oliver to wrap him up in his arms, and after a moment, to allow himself to cry, just a little.

“When are you going to tell _me_ something shitty that happened to _you_ again,” he laughs wetly – laughs in that way that only those torn between the grief of speaking of their pain and the relief of sharing it can. 

“It was really just the one big shitty thing,” Oliver murmurs, breathing in the fresh scent of Elio’s clean hair.

“Must be nice,” Elio sighs before leaning back and wiping his eyes. 

_How is it that someone so young can have had so much happen,_ Oliver wonders as he studies Elio pushing his hair back and taking a deep breath. 

He’s tried not to let the things that have happened to Elio shape the way he looks at him – they change his understanding obviously, and change how he interprets the things Elio does, but Oliver knows he doesn’t want to be defined by the things he confesses when he’s sad and tired and vulnerable with someone else for some of the first times in his life…

As he stands and shakes himself after only a few minutes, Elio seems lighter though, and Oliver can’t help but admire him for that. 

Perhaps it’s just bravado sometimes, but Elio is a strong person in so many ways, and he’s sure that the more he begins to open up, the stronger he’ll become. 

Elio is slowly letting him in, he recognises. 

He’s slowly but surely giving him the keys to a home everyone has been locked out of since it was built, one room at a time…

He only hopes that one day he’ll be able to clear out the ghosts, and open the curtains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me a comment telling me what you liked or didn't like :)
> 
> Either way I hope everyone is doing okay with you know... everything ❤️❤️ [Jeffersonhairpin](https://jeffersonhairpin.tumblr.com) on tumblr if you wanna interact - please do!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio throws a party and Oliver enjoys the happiness while it lasts...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIRSTLY: _Whoever sent me the lovely anon on my Tumblr, I don't know when you sent it and I'm sorry I didn't reply sooner! I thought I would get notifications about asks_ 😭😭
> 
> Otherwise, yay good times while they last :'D

After learning so much about Elio and the parts of him that he keeps away from everyone else, it’s surprising to Oliver the first time he sees him acting like the version of him he used to know again.

He decides to throw a party at his apartment and invite seemingly all of the people in those photos on his bedroom wall. The night began with pinches and laughter as they helped each other shower and get dressed, but they separated soon after the first round of guests arrived and Elio hasn’t had a chance to break away since.

Nor seemingly the desire, which Oliver understands. They’ve spent a lot of time alone together and with Sadie, but none with Elio’s friends given that Marzia lives in Italy. It must be nice to reconnect with some of the people that have dropped off since they got together.

Oliver knows none of these people, and it seems like none of them really _know_ Elio. It makes him wonder if anyone has _ever_ bothered to dig below the shiny happy surface Elio has instinctually brought back out tonight.

He imagines they’ve begun to try, as with anyone, but let it go when they met resistance.

Because truly, Elio puts up a lot of resistance.

Oliver is sitting on the couch with Sadie sipping the ridiculous drink she made for him in hopes of quelling his anxiety around these strangers, and you’d honestly think neither of them had ever been to a party before judging by how out of place they appear, sitting and staring.

It’s partially that the people here seem… bubblier, than they’re used to, and partially that most people here seem to be a few important years younger than them. Sadie in particular seems a little off-put by some of the more obviously underage attendees, given that she’s older even than Oliver at twenty-eight.

“It’s really weird seeing Elio, like… schmooze,” Sadie observes slowly around her straw.

“He’s not _schmoozing,”_ Oliver defends, giving her a look. “Schmoozing is when you _need_ something from someone; Elio doesn’t need anything from them.”

Sadie raises a brow.

“Are you telling me that boy doesn’t need that group’s love and attention?”

She has a point, but Oliver’s not going to admit it.

“Shut up,” he gripes, prompting Sadie to place a hand under his drink and guide it up to his lips with a coaching expression and then an approving smile. 

He rolls his eyes but takes his sip – honestly, he’ll need it tonight.

“He called Giles a DILF when we watched Buffy by the way,” he supplies, to pass the time – he’ll probably skip over the whole tragic-teenage-pregnancy-story of it all.

“Giles doesn’t have kids,” Sadie says, making a face. “I mean I’m not saying he’s wrong, but Giles is just a hot older guy, he’s not a DILF.”

“Hmm,” Oliver hums, weighing in his head. “I mean, he’s kind of Buffy’s dad.”

“More than _her_ dad was,” Sadie muses. “More than yours.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Oliver snorts, clinking his glass against hers and draining it in unison.

He finds it a lot easier to be casual about everything that happened with Sadie – she knows when to press and when to move on, in his experience.

After finding himself yet again turning his eyes to where Elio is chatting like he’s best friends with someone he’s met maybe four times, Oliver sighs in acceptance and stands to refill his and Sadie’s drinks.

“It’s weird for you too,” Sadie observes, following his eyeline. “You’ve been getting under his skin and it’s weird to see it coming back around other people, isn’t it?”

“It’s a little weird,” Oliver admits. “I knew nothing had changed with anyone else though, so…”

He shrugs and turns around, enjoying his buzz as he makes his way to the cocktail table and makes two cosmopolitans, purely because he knows it will piss Sadie off.

He’s just about to make his way back to her on the couch when he sees her being handed a glass of champagne by Diego, Elio’s driver.

 _Is he making his move?_ Oliver wonders with amused happiness as he alters his course.

Sadie and Diego have met a couple of times when they’ve driven somewhere with Elio, and it’s been clear that there’s something there – sometimes uncomfortably clear – but Diego has always been too professional to pursue anything on the job.

It makes Oliver smile to see the driver relax a little as he makes Sadie laugh.

Turning on his heel Oliver walks away to protect their budding _something_ and makes his way to an unoccupied corner to hold Sadie’s drink for her.

For at least as long as it takes him to finish his own, anyway. After that he makes no promises… He doesn’t want to be too drunk by the end of the night given that Elio won’t be drinking much himself, but he figures a few won’t do any harm.

He people-watches for a while, feeling surprising ease as his rewired anxious social instincts are slowly suppressed, as well as curiosity about how Elio knows all of these people.

A few he recognises from his bedroom wall, but there are too many to keep track of.

Oliver passes maybe ten minutes and half of his drink this way before almost choking on said drink as he spies a familiar face.

He instantly recognises April’s childhood friend Chastity when he sees her.

As her name might suggest her parents are almost as strict as his own were, so naturally she’s the secretive, rebellious, premature type.

Judging by the outfit that makes Oliver’s eyes widen and his cheeks blush as he looks away, nothing much but her age has changed since last he saw her.

“Oliver!” she cries after she feels eyes on her and spots him, rushing over from her group. “Oliver! Big bro!”

“Chastity,” he greets her with a smile, instinctively holding out his arms as she runs up, though he hasn’t seen her in a long time.

“How _are_ you?” she asks genuinely, up on her toes to hug him. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, after everything…”

She trails off as she pulls back, suddenly more genuine and serious.

“Well… You know what happened.”

“I’m doing okay,” he says, surprised to find himself telling the truth. “I’m not homeless,” he jokes with raised brows.

“I thought you probably wouldn’t be,” Chastity says, rolling her eyes before becoming curious. “You must be doing pretty okay though, to be here! How do you know who?”

“I’m uh…” Oliver trails off, his blush betraying him – both because he’s not necessarily _‘doing okay’_ by his old or her current standards, and because of the answer to her question.

How much does he say?

It doesn’t occur to him that he can really say whatever he wants, for a moment. 

Chastity is from his old world. He’s not a part of that world anymore, and he never will be again…

He could tell her that he’s a wildly successful prostitute and a client threw the party in his honour and it wouldn’t change a thing in his day to day life.

“I’m actually here because I’m with Elio,” he finally says, only slightly awkward. His ears are only _slightly_ burning.

“No shit?” Chastity says, raising a brow and looking over to where Elio is showing someone highlights in his movie collection and laughing.

He looks stupidly gorgeous in his laughter, naturally.

“Good _job_ big bro!” she exclaims, genuinely impressed, before tilting her head and studying him with assessing eyes. “You can stop being weird by the way, it’s not weird; I always knew… All the good ones are gay,” she laughs.

Oliver stiffens for a moment. 

_It’s amazing how many times you can put your cock in a man’s mouth and still tense up at the G word coming out of another one later._

“You knew?” Oliver asks in lieu of anything that will steer the conversation somewhere more comfortable.

“Yeah, you always looked at me in the eyes, and all my other friends’ brothers always looked at my boobs the second I got them,” Chastity jokes, sipping her drink.

 _Feminism weeps,_ Oliver’s mind supplies, sputtering instead of _supplying him with words._

“April’s doing okay now, just so you know,” she supplies, suddenly surprisingly sober. “She’s got some good people around her, so, you know…”

It’s awkward as she trails off, clearly aware that Oliver’s friends weren’t so good to him.

“…Wait, what do you mean ‘now’?” Oliver asks, a crease appearing between his brows as he processes what she’s said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Chastity says, looking away in thought as she decides what to say. “She was being kind of stupid for a while – doing things she knew would piss your parents off just to piss them off, going to parties she shouldn’t have been at, stuff like that… She didn’t know about you liking guys, _somehow,_ so I think the whole thing really took her by surprise. She’s a lot more focused now though. I mean, clearly – she got into Harvard. Law, obviously.”

 _…She_ did _get into Harvard!_

Oliver finds himself torn between grief that his actions led to his sister and best friend being interrupted during what should have been a good time to look back on , and joy that she came through it okay and is going to be attending the school she’s always aimed for – joy that she’s going to be able to use her gifts for all the things he’s imagined for her since he was thrown out…

Given that their parents weren’t so great at their job, the nature of Oliver and April’s relationship has always been simultaneously that of two conspiring siblings, and sometimes almost that of a daughter and a father, or at least some kind of guide… 

He’s tried to help her survive their home as best he knew how, and now she’s going to get to go out on her own and succeed in all the ways he can’t right now.

Maybe he won’t fulfil his potential, but he helped her to do it at least.

Maybe Oliver’s life is defective and not what it should have been, but hers is not.

“Tha—That’s amazing,” Oliver finally stutters out, realising he’s been silent too long.

Hopefully Chastity doesn’t tell April anything about his constant pausing and blushing and stuttering… She doesn’t need to know that her brother has become a social wreck since last she saw him.

“Yeah it is, she’s going to change the world or whatever,” Chastity agrees with an amused smile. “I got into NYU by the way,” she says with a sardonically raised brow. “Just in case you were wondering.”

“Oh, that’s amazing too,” Oliver replies, trying and obviously failing to recover.

“Yeah,” Chastity sighs dramatically, inspecting her nails. “I mean, it’s not Harvard, but I’m not the golden child, so…”

As she trails off Oliver begins to smile, realising how much Chastity reminds him of a wealthy soft-grunge Sadie. He’s about to say something along those lines when a friend of Chastity’s comes up to take her back to their group.

It’s awkward for a moment, as this person clearly doesn’t know who Oliver is and thinks she’s saving her friend from talking up an older guy, or something along those lines, but in the end it’s clear that there’s nothing untoward happening as she speaks again.

“It was great seeing you Oliver,” she says genuinely as she turns to go.

“Yeah, you too,” Oliver replies, equally earnest, and surprised to find himself a little sad to see her go despite how it’s put him more on edge.

It’s so rare he runs into a connection to his old life, he thinks mournfully as he watches her walk away, disappointed by how brief it all was.

He should have asked more about his sister; who knows when he’ll get a chance to learn more…

“So hey, why were you talking to the _embodiment_ of the Catholic schoolgirl?” Oliver hears from his right a moment later, jumping a little at Sadie’s unexpected proximity as she takes her waiting drink from his hand.

“Her name is Chastity,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

“Of course it is,” Sadie snorts, sniffing her drink and wrinkling her nose.

“I was talking to her because she knows my sister,” Oliver supplies, watching his friend’s reaction. 

She’s less careful than she usually is when the subject of Oliver’s past life comes up, tilting her head.

“Oh!” the redhead exclaims. “Did you get to find anything out?”

“Yeah, she’s doing well apparently,” Oliver smiles. “She’s going to Harvard.”

“That’s amazing!” she says loudly, enthusiastic in her intoxication. “That was her thing, right?”

“It was, I’m happy for her,” Oliver grins, happy to be happy. 

“Me too,” Sadie agrees.

But Oliver knows what’s to follow by her tone. 

“…But _not_ as happy as I am for me for _my_ news,” she informs him with a grin.

Oliver sighs and rolls his eyes, turning to face his best friend.

“What’s your news Sadie?”

“My news is that Diego asked me if he could take me to dinner!” she announces eagerly. “And I said _yes!”_

 _“Finally,”_ Oliver laughs, truly happy for his friend. “He’s late – it’s been extremely uncomfortable to be in the car with you two when he’s driven us somewhere.”

Sadie raises a haughty brow at that.

“Oliver, my baby infant child, that is called sexual tension and _raw naturally chemistry,_ and I’ll teach you about it someday if you and Elio break up and you figure out how to be less of a _milkdrinker.”_

Oliver chooses not to formulate a response to that, and decides instead to laugh again and listen to Sadie talk about when and where they’re going.

He really is happy for her; it’s been a good night…

 _It’s been a good couple of months at this point,_ he thinks with predictable suspicion as he tunes out slightly and watches Elio sip a cocktail someone has made for him.

Elio’s really been easing up lately, on all of the strict rules he’s imposed on himself since long before Oliver knew him – often he even counts his medications only _once_ before taking them, he’s noticed.

His savings are up, Sadie is having fun, Elio is slowly letting go of both his secrets and, Oliver hopes, his fears…

He just wonders when the other shoe is going to drop. Things don’t just _stay_ this good forever…

Later that night in bed Elio hums in contentment with a smile on his face as he squeezes the body in his arms. 

“I feel all floaty,” he almost giggles. 

“Yeah, you had a whole like… four drinks,” Oliver murmurs with a matching grin, though a much sleepier one.

“Hey, that’s—”

“A lot for you, I know,” Oliver sighs, taking one of Elio’s hands and kissing it before placing it back around his waist.

He really loves these moments in bed.

“One of them was only like, half an hour ago,” Elio insists. “I’ve never done a shot before either, and I think it was a big shot glass too… Sadie is a bad influence.”

Oliver feels his eyes scrunch up with a big smile at Elio’s ever so slightly intoxicated tone.

“She really is, but you took the shot very well,” he placates happily, before slowly beginning to feel quite serious as his grin fades. 

“…It was weird seeing you like you were tonight,” he confesses quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, I just—” 

Oliver pauses, thinking.

“I guess you were acting like who you seemed to be when I first met you – and I like that person, you know that… but it was weird seeing it again when I’ve gotten to know a different version. I love your confidence and how you try to make people smile and laugh, but—”

He trails off and shrugs.

“It was just weird seeing it so clearly again.”

Elio takes a moment to consider, before nuzzling close and pressing a kiss to Oliver’s neck.

“I like that you bothered to get to where seeing it was weird,” he murmurs softly. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy being with people like that or something – I really do …”

He considers for a moment more.

“…I just like that you know the me that’s _only_ been for me, until you.”

And Oliver can’t help but smile again at that, happy that they’re in such a good place.

And it really is _such_ a good place they’re in…

A shard of suspicion pierces his happy bubble again, as Oliver wonders just how long this can all last before something outside their control comes to ruin it, even a little…

It could be a lot.

They’ve been too happy in their lives lately, surely the universe is going to restore balance and make them pay for having the gall to enjoy something so beautiful…

“…I love you,” Oliver murmurs, suddenly, quietly afraid.

“Mm, love you too…” Elio murmurs, sleepily pressing his lips to his love’s neck again.

Oliver’s mind ticks on into the night as he tries to figure out how to stop everything from coming crashing down. But try as he will, he knows he just can’t account for everything…

He’s sure it won’t last forever.

He just hopes the world won’t take _everything_ when the honeymoon finally ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! It really helps shape the story ❤️❤️
> 
> I'm [jeffersonhairpin](https://jeffersonhairpin.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, I promise to check for anons now 😭


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio has a panic attack after Oliver's birthday celebration and they have dinner with the Perlmans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how I feel about this one 😬 But I said I would upload it tonight so here I am, try to enjoy lol
> 
> (I may make some edits in the next few days depending on how I feel)

The feeling of impending doom doesn’t go away entirely but it comes and goes in waves, at least.

He figures they’re still doing okay for now when his birthday comes around a few weeks after the party and Elio doesn’t hesitate to jump on Sadie’s plan of going to her favourite cheap bar to spend the night with a bottle or two and a basket of fries.

Elio does insist on having Oliver’s day entirely to himself since it falls on a Saturday and he promised no extravagant gifts, and so they spend the day about the city, cruising around the harbour on a ferry before heading to Brooklyn Park for a picnic complete with wine and cheese brought over from Italy.

Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever had a better birthday – Elio even lets him have a quick impromptu nap in the shade at the picnic, and only wakes him after sprinkling a _few_ grass shoots in his hair.

At first Oliver thinks nothing could make him happier than the warm, contented drive home, with Elio playing with his fingers between kisses, but then he thinks that as wonderful as the day has been, it would have been better if he could have seen his sister.

“Hey,” Elio nudges. “It’s your birthday – no frowning.”

“It’s my party, and I’ll frown if I want to,” Oliver jokes, but his heart isn’t quite in it.

To his surprise Elio doesn’t come back with something funny to bring up the mood.

Instead he tilts his head and looks up into his eyes.

“I’m sorry your sister couldn’t be here.”

“…How did you know I was thinking about that?” Oliver asks, surprised.

“She was your best friend,” Elio shrugs. “It’s an important day she would have been here for if everything hadn’t changed… it makes sense.”

Oliver smiles at that and leans his head on Elio’s, content to just rest before what he imagines is going to be a drunken riot with Sadie.

Though he’s still almost always the little spoon when they sleep, their dynamic has shifted more towards him ensuring that Elio feels comfortable in silence and confession than Elio making him feel comfortable, since his anxiety around him began to abate…

It’s nice to feel that he can be the one to close his eyes and confide in Elio right now.

“You know me,” he says softly, and it’s clear in his voice how much it means to him to be able to say it.

Elio smiles.

“I do,” he murmurs.

There’s silence in the car for a few moments, before Oliver breaks it with a hard truth.

“April didn’t know,” he says.

Elio turns to look at him, his eyes still closed.

“Didn’t know what?” he asks.

“She didn’t know that I’m…” Oliver trails off. 

He’ll use the word in the heat of the moment like he has with Sadie before, but not in an ‘I am’ statement, yet.

“She didn’t know that I like men,” he settles on, taking a page out of Elio’s book and deciding that now is not the time to deal with it.

Elio isn’t sure what to say at first.

“Are you sure she didn’t know?” he asks. “Or did you just not talk about it?”

“I…” Oliver sighs. “A friend of hers I ran into at your party mentioned it… I guess I knew that she didn’t know. She seemed surprised when dad started yelling at her about how I was a fa—”

He grunts out a small cough.

“Well, when he said what he said.”

Elio notices Oliver’s discomfort around naming his sexuality as always he does, but decides he’s not going to say anything on his birthday. He doesn’t understand it, really, and now isn’t the time to find out.

“…Why didn’t you tell her?” Elio questions gently as they pull up outside Oliver’s apartment.

“I don’t know,” Oliver sighs again. “I guess… I didn’t have to. It was easier not to.”

There’s a long, comfortable silence as Elio absorbs.

“Well… I’m glad you wanted to tell me,” he settles on truthfully. 

Maybe Oliver has fewer difficult events to talk about, but Elio sometimes gets the sense that he’s more bothered by his upbringing than he lets on – or seems to realise himself. 

Oliver smiles as they exit the car, feeling bold enough to hold Elio’s hand on the walk up to his apartment rather than just once they get inside.

“Hey,” Elio grins as his boyfriend fishes in his pocket for his keys. “Look at us communicating and sharing like functional human beings.”

“I’ve always been functional,” Oliver protests as he opens the door, expecting to find an empty apartment.

“You won’t be functional if I have anything to say about it tonight,” Sadie calls from barely three feet away, holding up two bottles of decent bourbon and wearing an evil grin.

Scaring the shit out of her two companions.

She laughs at their cries of shock and alarm and raises one of the bottles to swig.

“You two have some catching up to do.”

Oliver doesn’t remember much of the evening past say… midnight. 

But he’s positive they had a very good time – he didn’t drink as much as the older two obviously but with his non-existent tolerance even Elio got pretty trashed. 

They were all supposed to end up at Elio’s place for a movie before bed, but Oliver has vague memories of them all deciding to just crash at his and Sadie’s since they were closer and it was, by that point, far too late for a movie.

Grateful for his capacity to drink too much and cope the next day, Oliver rolls over to see if Elio is still in the bed and is surprised to find that he is; curled up on his side with his face smushed into the pillow.

Oliver smiles affectionately as he drinks in the sight – it’s so rare that he gets to see Elio this way, since he’s usually the first one awake because of his medication schedule.

His alarm will probably be going off soon, so Oliver decides to have his shower and get dressed before waking him slowly, just in case he’s feeling delicate – which he suspects he will be. They can decide what to do about breakfast then.

When he’s done and feeling semi-human he brushes Elio’s hair out of his face and runs his thumb over the circles he’s never seen under his eyes before, memorising the new sight.

“Elio,” he whispers.

He doesn’t stir.

“Elio,” he says, slightly louder. “It’s almost time for you to take your meds, you need to get up.”

This time his words elicit a tiny groan as the younger man opens his eyes ever so slightly.

“What time is it?” he asks in a small, croaking voice.

And before Oliver can answer, Elio’s phone does it for him, his alarm blaring loudly in his ear and prompting him to sit bolt upright and rub his eyes in distress as he takes in his surroundings through the din.

 _“Fuck,”_ he curses as he turns it off with shaking fingers, fumbling. “We were supposed to end up at mine, what the fuck are we doing here?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No, I don’t,” Elio says shortly, running a hand through his tangled hair and wrestling with the blankets until he’s free and standing. 

“Um,” he says to himself, clearly thinking intensely in a pause before he finds his jeans and puts them on. _“Fuck!”_

“What’s wrong?” Oliver asks. “You brought your meds with you, didn’t you?”

“No,” Elio says, an edge of panic in his voice as his breathing picks up. “No, I thought we would end up at my place, and I’m already supposed to be taking them, and I don’t have any food to take them with, and I didn’t tell Diego to be here, and—” 

He cuts himself off and pulls at his hair again, striding out of the room.

Oliver follows him, surprised at the turn the morning has taken so quickly as Elio goes about collecting his things to leave.

“You had time to shower, why didn’t you fucking wake me up before you went in so I could try to get to my shit in time?” Elio accuses, a horrible mixture of anger and fear in his tone.

“I… I figured it was more of a relative thing and I could let you sleep,” Oliver says quietly, feeling suddenly out of his depth. “You take your meds at different times in the meal all the time, I figured it would be fine for fifteen minutes while we got to your apartment.”

“It’s not ‘fine’ Oliver. _I don’t have my meds,”_ Elio stresses as he strides to the door.

Oliver takes it as an invitation to go with him when he doesn’t close the door behind him in his rush to get out.

He hails a taxi and thrusts a few fifties towards the driver, telling him he has more if he drives fast.

Oliver is confused, but unwilling to say anything about what he sees as an overreaction until Elio is calmer. The look in his eyes is scaring Oliver, the rapid tapping of his foot on the floor making him nervous as he chews his thumb nail. 

_Is there something I don’t know about his medication, or?_

Oliver thinks back and it’s true, what he said before – Elio takes his medications at slightly different times all the time. It will be nothing out of the ordinary to take them fifteen minutes later than his alarm.

 _It just can’t be_ this _urgent. Surely nothing that terrible would happen even if he missed one dose entirely._

As time goes on and Elio doesn’t calm Oliver begins to feel guilty for not waking him regardless of what his conscious brain is saying, and it only gets worse as it escalates. 

A few minutes into Elio’s thinking silence his breathing starts to pick up even more until it sounds like he’s hyperventilating and he lets out the tiniest whimper.

“I can’t breathe,” he pants softly before leaning over to wind down his window. “I can’t breathe, I can’t feel my lips. I feel like I’m dying.”

“You’re okay,” Oliver soothes – or tries to soothe as he moves closer, but it doesn’t appear to have any effect.

Elio puts a hand on Oliver’s arm like he can’t tell if he needs space or to be held, the look in his eyes like a frightened animal.

“Don’t… let me pass out,” he manages to get out. 

Oliver is confused – do people actually pass out when they hyperventilate?

“I’m scared.”

Breath.

“I won’t.” 

Breath. 

“Wake up.”

Oliver frowns, totally at a loss as to what to do.

“…Of course you’ll wake up if you pass out – which you won’t,” he tries to reassure, but Elio just shakes his head and tries to get fresh air from the open window.

“You don’t _know_ that… I can’t breathe,” he repeats, curling up and then stretching out with a strained expression of fear.

“Everything okay back there?” the driver finally asks. “He’s not going to throw up is he?”

Elio whimpers again, knowing it’s a very real possibility.

“He’s not going to throw up,” Oliver asserts as though willing it to be so. “Can you go any faster though?”

“I can only go as fast as I can go, man.”

Finding himself without his usual fear of public displays of affection, Oliver places one of his hands at the back of Elio’s head and the other on his chest.

“You can breathe,” he says, trying to project certainty he doesn’t feel. “You’re breathing right now, you’re not going to die.”

“It doesn’t… feel that way,” Elio pants, sounding dangerously close to tears. “I don’t have my meds… I _always_ have them now… I’m _supposed_ to be having them, _right now.”_

“You’ll have them in five minutes,” Oliver insists, but he knows his distressed tone isn’t helping as Elio keeps panicking.

“What if something happens? What if we crash and I can’t get to them?”

“That’s not going to happen. You just need to breathe with me,” he says gently, moving his hand from Elio’s head to wrap around his shoulders and using his other hand to pull one of Elio’s to his chest, and then taking deep, deliberate breaths.

“I can’t… that doesn’t work for me,” Elio gasps, pulling his arm back to his chest as though protecting himself.

“Well… what does work?” Oliver asks, completely lost. “What do you need?”

“I need my fucking _meds,”_ Elio almost cries, his eyes scrunched shut. “I never should have gone out last night.”

Oliver bites his tongue and decides that he needs to just let whatever is going to happen, happen.

He has no idea how to help Elio right now.

Elio seems to do a better job of getting some semblance of control over his breathing alone than he did with Oliver’s help, though he’s still clearly in the panic’s grip as they pull up and rush to the elevator.

The second the doors open he rushes to his bathroom and grabs his pills, counting them in the kitchen three times with shaking fingers and taking the sandwich Oliver has quickly made in the interim, barely even sitting before he starts to get it all down.

At first Oliver stands in the kitchen picking at his nails, but eventually he makes his way to the table and sits down gingerly like he’s not sure he’s welcome. He lifts his eyes to study Elio and hates what he sees.

The dark circles under his eyes seem worse in the light here, his hair is wild from the night and from how he’s pulled at it this morning, his eyes only flick up to Oliver once and the older man can’t read the look in them…

The eating food and drinking water and getting what he’s needed have brought Elio back from his panic, but he’s clearly still not himself after he’s completed his tasks. 

After pushing his plate away he sits with his elbows on the table, his head bowed and his hands in fists over his ears, as though shutting down and restarting. Or perhaps just looking for more privacy, to think, than sitting at the table facing could Oliver grant him. 

When Oliver tentatively dips his head to get a look at his face, Elio’s eyes are scrunched shut and his mouth is a thin line.

After a moment Oliver recognises the precise set of Elio’s brow.

Regret. And not the fun kind that usually follows a drunken birthday celebration.

“Are…” Oliver begins, pausing to consider but finding no better words. “Are you okay?” he asks.

Slowly, Elio uncurls himself from his hunched position, but he doesn’t meet Oliver’s eyes. He looks to the side as though deep in thought.

“…I don’t know,” he says quietly. 

And Oliver doesn’t know what to say to that.

“What do you need?” he asks. 

“I don’t know,” Elio repeats, still not lifting his gaze. “I haven’t had a panic attack like that since I was—”

He shakes his head as though denying the thought.

“I’ve… never been that drunk before,” he says with a slight tremor. 

Oliver is just about to say something to that but then Elio shakes himself and licks his bottom lip before continuing factually. 

“It’s not good sleep when you’re drunk,” he says. “I need real sleep. It’s… not good to get bad sleep like that.”

Oliver nods again, instantly suspicious of how off Elio’s tone is. 

“Okay,” is all that he says though.

And immediately Elio is up and heading towards the bathroom without another word.

“Do you want me to—” Oliver begins, but Elio’s answer is immediate.

“No,” he says sharply.

He tries to soften it with a small smile but Oliver recognises it as false immediately and feels like he’s been slapped across the face, as guilt rushes through him.

“Okay,” he says again, knowing his posture is giving away how he wishes he could disappear but saying nothing as Elio continues out of the room.

Elio brushes his teeth for exactly two minutes, counting in his head. He takes a shower and lathers himself up in half a bar of soap to wash away the grime of the night. He puts on his softest pyjamas and sets his blinds to completely block out the sun, and then he burrows under the covers, still feeling jittery and wrong.

Between losing some of last night for the first time, experiencing his first real hangover, not having his meds for the first time and having his first panic attack of that magnitude in years… 

Elio has never felt this out of control. Not when he could help it.

Not even on the night when he told Oliver about how scared he was. 

He tries to bury those feeling as far down as he can – he can choose to be in control as long as he takes his meds and takes care of himself. He’s known this for years, and nothing Oliver and Sadie say or do can change that…

He’s just been letting Oliver in too much, letting him break too many walls down, letting him shape his boundaries when he _knows_ where they should be.

It’s for his _safety,_ how could he have forgotten? Elio loves Oliver but lying there, thinking back on all the little concessions he’s made, little ways he’s relaxed because Oliver made it seem so fun and easy…

He shouldn’t let Oliver be so much… a _part_ of him, if it makes him do stupid things like last night. He can love him and be separate...

He just doesn’t _do_ things like last night. He doesn’t _get_ drunk and he _definitely_ doesn’t just about black out. 

What if he did something stupid last night and he can’t remember? What if he put something in his mouth that he shouldn’t have? What if he caught something somehow, that he wouldn’t have if he’d been acting like himself?

He feels like he’s been thrown into cold water after spending months dry and warm.

Elio reaches his conclusion and shuts the thoughts down there – he needs to be more aware of how he lets Oliver influence him and that’s fine. He can still love him without losing his boundaries entirely…

He just has to focus on being okay for dinner with his parents tonight now; there’s no time to be upset if he’s going to be rested and ready by then.

He just needs to get some real sleep…

While Elio is in the shower Oliver puts the sandwich plate in the dishwasher along with the glass, and then putters around feeling sick about the events of the morning. 

_We should have just gone back to his place like we planned,_ he berates himself. _I should have thought to ask about his meds._

It might have occurred to Oliver that if Elio reacts like this when he doesn’t have them and even _he_ didn’t think about it, that they were probably all drunk enough that he’s not really to blame… 

But seeing Elio that way has left him unable to feel anything other than utterly sick with himself in the silence following his exit.

_Please don’t let this ruin everything somehow…_

Desperate for a distraction until Elio is finished, Oliver reads the labels on the medications on the counter. At first it’s just a way to think less, but as he reads more of the bottles… he realises that of the few that even mention needing to be taken at the same time of day, they all say something along the lines of, ‘approximately the same time’. 

Nothing at all to suggest that Elio wasn’t going to be absolutely fine if he took them _maybe_ half an hour later than usual, or even missed a dose altogether

Oliver frowns. 

As he hears Elio opening the bathroom door he places the last bottle quickly down and turns to face him.

But Elio doesn’t look at him at all – doesn’t really seem to realise he’s there, lost in thought as he seems… 

When the door clicks shut Oliver decides to believe that Elio just wants some time to get changed, and to give him another moment before seeing if he wants him to stay.

…He maybe wants that moment for himself as well, because he was kind of hoping Elio would emerge from his long shower feeling better and ready to forgive him, and it hurts that he didn’t. 

He thinks he might _need_ to hear it, despite what he read on the bottles.

Eventually it’s clear that Elio isn’t going to call him in so he sighs and makes his way into the room, knocking, and then entering anyway when he hears no answer.

“Elio?” he asks, uncertain.

“What?” he hears from the bed. 

“…Do you want me to stay? Keep you company?” 

The answer is immediate and certain.

“No,” Elio says. “I just need to sleep. Sorry.”

Oliver chooses not to think about how Elio has always wanted him in his bed whenever he’s gotten the chance until now, and decides to just accept the answer as it is.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “I’ll see you here tonight? For dinner with your parents?”

He knows it’s not exactly a subtle way of confirming that it’s still on after the events of the morning.

“Yeah, tonight,” Elio murmurs in a clear dismissal, and Oliver takes the hint.

He walks out of the building in a slight daze, trying to process everything that’s happened. He’s walking vaguely in the direction of his apartment in a haze of anxious, guilty thoughts when his phone rings.

“What is it, Sadie?”

“Where are you? I have hair-of-the-dog mimosas.”

Oliver considers for a moment.

“...I’ll tell you when I get there.”

“I just…” Oliver sighs, sipping his second hangover mimosa. “I knew he had a lot of anxiety around his health, but I didn’t think it was _that_ bad. Or… I knew it was that bad before, but I thought it was getting better. I thought _he_ was getting better about it.”

“Well,” Sadie considers, sipping her own drink and fanning herself with one of her mom’s old fans. “Getting better is a relative term. Maybe after today he’ll realise that nothing bad actually happened and be less freaked out next time he’s late with his meds.”

“There’s not going to _be_ a next time,” Oliver says darkly. “Trust me. It wasn’t exposure therapy, it was just… another shitty event.”

Sadie hums in acknowledgement, not having a solution to propose and being in no state to propose a real one anyway, and they fall into thoughtful silence for a time.

“I’m nervous he’s going to be mad at me tonight,” Oliver finally admits, chewing worriedly on his straw.

He hasn’t been this anxious about things with Elio since before the night he told him the truth.

“Maybe,” Sadie shrugs. “But couples get mad at each other sometimes and they survive. You didn’t do anything wrong, anyway. You didn’t pressure him to drink last night, you didn’t make him stay at your place, and for all you knew it was _better_ for his health to let him sleep it off a little longer – it’s not like you turned his alarm off… If he needed so much extra time he should have set it earlier.”

Oliver understands where Sadie is coming from, but while she’s generally very understanding with other people’s emotions after having to take care of her mother’s so often growing up, she doesn’t really seem to ‘get’ Elio’s anxiety around his health.

She doesn’t quite understand the extent of the impact his experiences have had on him. 

She’s not wrong that it wasn’t really Oliver’s fault though, he finally begins to accept, with the help of her second opinion. Maybe the spirit of the night was raucous, but he never once pressured Elio to drink anything he didn’t want to drink.

“I don’t know,” Oliver sighs again in closing, and thankfully Sadie allows him to let it drop.

“Oh well, just one more super happy birthday,” she smiles, clinking their glasses together before they drain them.

Placing his glass down Oliver takes his leave to sleep off what remains of his hangover, and Sadie wishes him sweet dreams. 

Only they’re not.

Oliver doesn’t know exactly what he dreams about, but he wakes up feeling tense and irritable.

 _At least you’re not sick with guilt anymore,_ his mind supplies, and Oliver has to agree.

He’s still sympathetic to Elio’s feelings, but he’s sure he’s not responsible for them. If Elio is angry with him tonight they’re going to need to talk about it, because he’s not comfortable with things settling like this… 

He needs more clarity about where Elio is at.

He manages to shower and dress with just enough time to arrive at Elio’s before his parents are supposed to arrive – or, he would have, if they hadn’t arrived uncharacteristically early.

“Oliver!” Annella calls as the elevator doors open, and despite how uneasy he feels he can’t help but be soothed by her tone.

His own mother has never once said his name the way Annella Perlman has from the first time she met him.

“Annella,” he says with a smile as she embraces him, knowing how she hates to be called ‘Mrs Perlman’. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too darling,” she smiles. “And happy birthday yesterday!”

“Thank you,” he says genuinely as Elio’s father comes up grinning, for his own hug.

It’s amazed him how quickly Elio’s parents have accepted him so completely…

The appropriate congratulations and ‘thank-you’s are exchanged and as they sit down to eat Elio has barely said hello, though he’s carefully smiled where appropriate.

“Are you alright _tesoro?”_ Annella asks of her son as the meal begins. “You’ve been awfully quiet since we arrived, are you feeling well?”

“I’m fine,” Elio says softly. “Maybe just a little tired after last night.”

Annella and Samuel exchange amused glances. 

“That’s a first,” Sami says, a cheeky glint in his eye. “You’re a good influence Oliver – it’s good to loosen up sometimes.”

Oliver does his best to put the right kind of smile on and keep everything going smoothly as he studies Elio. 

He’s clearly more than tired or off, but they need to have that conversation after the dinner.

With both of them feeling so unsettled it’s difficult to keep up appearances but they seem to manage well enough with how easily Sami and Annella make up for their silences. It all goes well enough until the end, when Sami gives Annella a look and she pulls an envelope out of her purse.

“Oliver,” she addresses, pronouncing each syllable distinctly.

_Oh god, what is this?_

If the sudden deer-in-the-headlights look in Elio’s eyes is anything to go by, _he_ definitely knows.

“I know you and Elio agreed on nothing extravagant from _him_ , but… we appreciate you being in our lives,” she explains warmly. “It’s been so wonderful to get to know you and see how happy you’ve made Elio in the last few months… we wanted to give you something that means a lot to you.”

“I… thank you,” Oliver manages to get out as the envelope is slid towards him, but he has yet another sick feeling in his stomach.

It’s definitely not guilt this time.

He knows what this is going to be, and he can’t accept it.

 _No wonder Elio didn’t care if he couldn’t give me anything, he knew that_ they _would. Jesus Christ…_

With slightly unsteady hands Oliver takes the envelop and opens it, finding exactly what he expected, only more. 

It’s a cheque. For a _large_ portion of his tuition. 

“I… can’t accept this,” he says honestly after schooling his expression as he slides the paper away, unable to keep the sadness out of his grateful tone.

 _Yes you can,_ a part of him insists. _It’s nothing to them, and it’s everything to you._

“Nonsense,” Sami agrees loudly with a smile, trying to bring up the mood. “We know how much your education means to you and we want you to have it.”

“Truly Oliver,” Annella smiles. “It’s nothing. We’d pay for the whole thing if we thought you’d let us.”

Oliver takes a moment to stare at Elio across the table. He can see in his eyes that he can hear Oliver’s mind screaming _How could you let them put me in this position!_

“At least hold onto the cheque,” Sami insists, knowing Oliver at least well enough to know what’s happening in his head. “It’s up to you whether you use it, but…”

As he trails off he catches Oliver’s eye and holds his gaze.

“I really think you should pursue your field of study, Oliver. I don’t think you should have to wait so long doing work you don’t enjoy – you deserve it, and the world needs more good people who care about these things the way you do.”

Oliver feels his eyes prick with tears at the genuine kindness and conviction in Sami’s voice, and as much as he tries to quell the feeling he knows his eyes are wet when he speaks.

“Thank you,” he says, slightly strangled. “Truly, thank you.”

He doesn’t know if he’s going to use it – if he _can_ – but the gesture touches something inside him he’s tried to bury since his family abandoned him.

These people don’t want anything from him for this, they just want what’s best for him and he just –

“Sorry, I’ll be back,” he says, standing and making his way to the bathroom, as quickly as socially acceptable.

Maybe a little faster than that.

He hears murmured discussion as he locks the door but chooses to tune it out as he splashes his face with cold water in an effort to prevent a torrent of tears that will make his eyes embarrassingly red for the rest of the dinner if he lets them loose.

“Fuck,” he exhales quietly into the sink, leaving the water running to cover his reaction. 

_I can’t accept the money, it’s too much,_ part of him insists.

 _Of course you can,_ another part disagrees.

 _This isn’t just a few hundred – or even a few_ thousand _dollars! What if something happens and they ask for it back?_

_It’s a gift, they can’t ask for it back!_

_So was my phone, with my parents. So was all of the shit they took back, people don’t care what they can and can’t do when they decide they want to hurt you._

_They’re not going to do what your parents did._

____

_I don’t know that!_

____

Oliver is still arguing with himself as he dries his face and takes a few deep breaths steeling himself to go back out to the table.

____

He knows they’ll understand – it’s more than likely that they knew their gift would bring on this kind of reaction, and they seem to be fine with others’ emotions… It’s just uncomfortable, to feel so exposed. 

____

He’s spent more time with the Perlmans than he ever thought he would but it’s not like they’ve been having emotional breakthroughs together.

____

He knows that the longer he hides the more awkward it will be though, so he goes.

____

“Sorry about that,” he says as he returns, unsure of what else to say. 

____

The family have clearly been talking about his reaction but they seem determined to make him feel okay about it.

____

“It’s alright,” Sami says with that same knowing, amused glint in his eye from earlier. “We’ve all had to make a hasty trip to the bathroom before.”

____

“We understand,” Annella insists.

____

And they speak no more about it. Annella picks up a topic as though nothing has happened at all and moves everyone forward. 

____

It doesn’t escape Oliver’s notice that Elio doesn’t even pretend to sip the wine his father poured for everyone, or the way he avoids everything on his plate except the greens and vegetables, or the way he avoids his gaze all night… but it’s too early to tell if it’s just for the evening or if it has more lasting implications.

____

Before everyone leaves Annella makes sure to slip the envelope into Oliver’s pocket and ask him to at least think about it as she gives him a goodbye kiss on the cheek.

____

He promises he will – and it’s true, he _will_ … he just can’t guarantee where he’s going to land in the end. He loves Elio’s parents, but… they’re not his parents. 

____

He’s not sure how it can _not_ feel like too much.

____

When the Perlmans have left it’s just the two of them in the big apartment, standing in the kitchen.

____

“I still haven’t cooked for you yet,” Oliver says with a gesture to the stove after a few silent moments, trying to ease the tension out of habit – it’s not usually him creating it.

____

“Mm,” Elio acknowledges, nodding but not meeting his gaze.

____

Oliver sighs. 

____

“Can we talk about—”

____

“No,” Elio says instantly, turning to gather the plates from the table and rinse them off.

____

“You don’t even know what I was going to—”

____

“I don’t want to talk about this morning,” Elio asserts, not playing Oliver’s game. “I was hungover, I needed my meds, I didn’t have my meds. That’s what happened, and it’s never going to happen again. So it’s fine.”

____

But it’s so obviously so far from fine.

____

…But it’s also obvious that Elio isn’t going to budge on this tonight.

____

“Okay,” Oliver challenges, raising his eyebrows. “Then let’s talk about how you knew they were going to give me that cheque tonight and you let them spring it on me.”

____

Elio has the good sense to look guilty at that, as he loads the plates into the dishwasher. 

____

“I forgot to warn you,” he says, his tone clipped.

____

“You _forgot_ to tell them not to _write_ it,” Oliver says, not backing down. “You wanted them to and you knew they would and that’s why you agreed not to get me anything.”

____

Elio frowns at the words, swinging the dishwasher shut and turning towards Oliver.

____

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” he says.

____

“Shocking!” Oliver exclaims, his irritation bubbling over into something ugly.

____

Elio, for his part, just closes his eyes and takes a breath. 

____

“We’ll talk about whatever you want tomorrow, but I’m tired,” he says dispassionately. “Do you want to stay here or do you want to go home?”

____

Oliver stands there choking on air for a moment, furious that he’s feeling so much while Elio seems to be feeling absolutely nothing, when _he’s_ the one who’s done nothing wrong here.

____

…But after a moment he just deflates.

____

He doesn’t want to go home and leave things like this. He wants to have it out and get it over with, but that’s clearly not going to happen… If he goes home tonight it’s only going to make things worse. 

____

“I don’t want to go home,” he finally says, and some softness makes its way into Elio’s expression at that.

____

“Come on,” he says, holding out a hand which Oliver takes as they head to the bedroom.

____

He’s still angry to have been put in the position he’s in with the cheque. He’s still upset that Elio was angry at him this morning when he did nothing wrong. He’s still scared that it feels like he was right to be afraid and everything is going to be ruined after all…

____

But he can wait, he supposes. Maybe not comfortably, but he can wait. He can fight his feelings of impending loss and tell himself he knew Elio still harboured fears even when they had a few good weeks or months...

____

It’s not until he hears Elio’s breath slow down next to him that he realises that while he was lost in his thoughts the younger man was falling asleep – without touching him, without saying goodnight, without saying _I love you_ , for the first time in… 

____

Well. A long time.

____

Oliver gets up to have a shower, hoping to clear his head enough to get some sleep – he has to be up early for work tomorrow after all.

____

As he leaves, he doesn’t notice Elio opening his eyes slightly and watching him go, giving a small sigh and turning over, his mind ticking over the events of the day and reminding him of all the reasons he needs to pull back and reassert control…

____

Elio is still trying his best to assert that control by pretending to sleep until he gets there when Oliver returns.

____

The two fall asleep on opposite sides of the bed.

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think/feel :) 
> 
> (Are people still enjoying this?) (For planning purposes) (Still jeffersonhairpin on tumblr if anyone wants to send me a comment or opinion 😊)
> 
> ❤️❤️❤️


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio needs a week to himself, but when they see one another again the love is still there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh it's been a long time, sorry 😓 
> 
> Life stuff happened and this chapter was really hard to write... I kind of hate it? But I've fixed it as much as I can so I just need to put it out and move on - pls don't give up on the quality of the fic 😭
> 
> (Songs, in order, are [LAX](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NzxW8nxgENA) by Vulfpeck, [Miss You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KuRxXRuAz-I) by The Rolling Stones, and [Écoute Chérie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OhqUMFj51X0) by Vendredi sur Mer)

Despite what Elio said before they went to fall asleep alone in the same bed, they never do end up talking about what happened.

When Oliver wakes up in the morning, it’s just in time to feel a hesitant kiss being pressed to his cheek and then watch Elio run out the door. 

To go for a run. Which isn’t something he’s ever done before that Oliver knows of.

The strange _off_ feeling to the kiss isn’t something he’s really known from Elio before either.

Biting his nails, Oliver heads to work after a shower, and then spends his night studying the secondhand textbook Elio found for him at the store. Or, he tries to study, but he’s distracted by his mind running away with how indifferent Elio seemed to his imploring tone the night before. 

He’s at war with himself on and off until Elio sends him a ridiculous loved-up song that allows him to think that _maybe_ he’s overthinking after all.

He listens to it far too many times for a song so far outside his usual tastes, while curled up on his couch, trying to imagine that in sending it Elio means to say such praising things to him; he wants Elio to call _him_ his baby and sing about how he’s _‘the best’_ with a smile in his voice… 

He doesn’t want him to stare, unmoved, and ask if he wants to go home or not; he’s the best thing in Oliver’s life, and he can’t go back to the way it was before…

In another part of town Elio bites his lip as he stares at the song he’s sent.

He isn’t done working through how he feels about what happened in the slightest, but he really does know Oliver, and he doesn’t want him to spend the night imagining worst case scenarios instead of sleeping.

He loves Oliver, deeply, but…

He needs a moment to think, and to come back to himself again.

At first Elio feels like he’s on the other side from Oliver, like he’s fighting him to keep his walls up – walls that have kept him safe and sane for almost as long as he can remember…

But after a day or two the feeling thaws. 

Oliver’s idea of relaxing isn’t good for him – after all he can never truly _relax_ – but he loves him, and that part is simple.

It’s just that he can’t keep loving him in the way he has; the way that leads him to eat things that aren’t good, and drink with him and Sadie, and fucking _forget his meds,_ how could he have forgotten his fucking _meds—_

In the end, after a week of missing him desperately while also counting up all the times he’s broken his own unspoken rules since meeting him – wanting desperately to tell Oliver about his dilemma but being unable to because he’s a part of it… 

Elio comes to the simple conclusion that he’ll just need to walk the line carefully.

He’s been doing emotional balancing acts almost his entire life, he can do this.

He misses Oliver too much not to.

Oliver goes about working and reading and trying not to think about it too much with very limited success. 

He feels worse with every hour he doesn’t hear from Elio, almost tearing up at the strange silence between them when Elio’s wine arrives at his door as it does every week.

He has no context for this, no idea if Elio just needs to take a beat after something scary happened, or if the ice Oliver heard in his tone that night has been growing.

The worst part is having no one to talk to about it. 

Sadie is just going to say the same thing she said earlier, and it’s not like Oliver can talk to Dan about it – they’re work friends, not _real_ friends. 

And even if they were real friends, Oliver sincerely doubts they could ever be ‘help me with my _boyfriend_ problems’ friends…

He does his best to compartmentalise, but by Friday morning he’s just emotionally exhausted. 

He needs to end the silence, so he sends Elio a song before work – _“Miss You”_ by The Rolling Stones – and then turns off his phone until lunchtime, hoping his message will get through.

His anxiety abates just a little when he sits down to eat his depressing sandwich and sees a message from Elio.

_I miss you too… come over and test out the kitchen for dinner?_

Oliver smiles to himself and places his sandwich between his teeth, heedless off the limp lettuce that falls to the floor as he texts back immediately.

_Please._

_Is there anything you want me to make?_

Elio’s replies are just as immediate.

_Surprise me :)_

Followed by:

_I love you_

Oliver smiles and breathes a sigh of relief at the words, repeating them before getting to his lunch.

He’s still afraid that things will be different – that something will somehow have gone terribly wrong in the week of silence – but at least he’s going to get to see Elio again.

His apartment has been so quiet…

The smile he’s greeted with when he enters the penthouse apartment eases something in Oliver’s chest, which seems to come loose and break off as Elio puts Luna down and runs over, reaching up to wrap his arms around his neck and kiss him.

“I’ve missed you,” he says with quiet sincerity, swaying them briefly and leaning his head on Oliver’s chest as he takes a moment to breathe in his earthy scent.

“I’ve missed you too,” Oliver says genuinely, wishing he could return the embrace but being unable to with his arms weighed down by grocery bags.

Elio takes a deep breath and begins, “Can we just…”

“Pretend nothing happened?” Oliver finishes.

Elio looks up, not removing his arms from around Oliver as he nods. 

“Yes please,” he whispers, brows drawn.

“I’d like that,” Oliver smiles softly, relieved beyond words that while they’re moving forward, the horrible wrongness of the week isn’t going completely unacknowledged. 

Elio smiles and squeezes him once before taking one of the bags out of his hands.

“Come on then – make me dinner, I’m starving,” he demands in that playful way of his as he takes Oliver’s hand and pulls him into the kitchen.

He too is relieved – Oliver isn’t going to make him talk about it.

Oliver smiles to himself as he goes about cooking and sipping the wine he brought with him, amazed at how easy everything feels, though Elio refuses the wine outright.

Elio asks about his week and they talk and laugh, and things go smoothly, until he breaks out the chicken and begins cutting it into strips.

Elio has been watching with casual interest as they’ve talked, but with the chicken out suddenly he’s standing right next to Oliver with his eyes glued to it, darting occasionally to the vegetables.

“Can I help you?” Oliver asks with amusement, keeping his tone light.

“Um,” Elio says, biting his bottom lip like he does when he’s not sure he should speak, but can’t hold it back. “Can we just… have those a little further apart?” he asks, looking up for barely a second before moving the vegetables to the other side of the bench.

“Oh, sorry I thought they were okay,” Oliver apologises, though he doesn’t really understand.

“It’s okay,” Elio says with a small, quick smile, before continuing his previous train of thought.

Oliver brushes it off and nods as he listens, but then when he goes to use the hand that was holding the knife to pick up a dishtowel, Elio grabs the towel before he can and gestures with his head to the sink.

“Maybe you could wash your hands first?” he suggests softly.

“It’s okay,” Oliver assures. “I only touched the chicken with my left hand; this one is clean.”

He waves said hand for effect with a smile, but to no avail.

“I’d just… rather you washed your hands,” Elio replies, still soft, but a little cagey. “Just in case.”

Oliver hesitates for a moment, but decides not to say anything about it; he can wash his hands if it makes Elio feel better.

He’s a little surprised by how cautious Elio is about it, but at the same time, he’s never cooked for him before – this could just be the way he is about food safety. Maybe he’s always been this wary of raw chicken in the kitchen, given that he wouldn’t have been old enough to cook when he stopped eating meat.

Once the food is on the table Elio lights some candles, plays some soft music, and dims the lights – something he hasn’t done often before when they’ve eaten here, and something he clearly enjoys if the lift in his step as he comes to sit down is anything to go by.

Oliver compliments the set up as they sit to eat and talk, smiling as he truly settles into the simple happiness of the evening after a week of anxiety and uncertainty.

He’ll have to learn to make some more vegetarian dishes so they can do this more often.

He may have to ask Elio about what he likes first though, because the way he picks around the cheese on top of his steaming vegetables and the way he – perhaps less subtly than he intends to – removes as much of the oil from his food as possible before eating it, does not escape Oliver’s notice.

“The feta is a pretty important part of the flavour,” he notes with a sip of his wine, gesturing to Elio’s plate with his fork.

The reply is a little too quick.

“Oh – I thought it tasted great anyway,” Elio insists with a big smile – a little too big.

“I’m glad,” Oliver says before continuing slowly, wary of starting something. “Is there any reason you didn’t want the cheese, or…?”

“Oh, I’m just… I think I’ve just kind of gone off cheese,” Elio explains, but Oliver isn’t quite buying it.

_He’s gone off cheese entirely, in the last week? He was picking around his food at dinner with his parents as well…_

Oliver pulls himself back from the suspicious thought – what’s he even suspicious _of?_

 _People go on health kicks after big nights of drinking all the time, you’re just looking for things to go wrong,_ he berates, as he makes himself shrug and move on talking about something Dan said the other day.

Elio seems relieved when the subject is dropped. Which makes him happier. Which makes Oliver happier in turn. Which makes him study Elio’s glowing complexion and the way he runs his fingers up and down the lines of his neck when he’s not paying attention to it, which has Elio noticing eyes on him and grinning almost imperceptibly while he runs his toes up and down Oliver’s calf like they’re conspiring sixteen-year-olds avoiding adult suspicion at their babbling parents' family-friend dinner – all without a break in his talking. 

And so after the dishes have been washed and put away with much joking and splashing and soaked-shirt-removing, Oliver has forgotten all about his vague worries, lying in bed next to Elio, panting in a post-coital haze. 

Looking at Elio beside him, Oliver is sure they’re going to be okay.

Elio can almost feel the same as he tries to catch his breath. 

Perhaps he can strike this balance, and walk the thin line between loving Oliver the way he deserves and protecting himself from everything he’s afraid of…

If he hides just enough, reveals _just_ enough… this can all still work.

He smiles to himself as their breathing evens out, confident in his plan.

“That was amazing,” he breathes as he nudges Oliver onto his side and wraps his arms around him, nosing at his neck like he’s been dying to for days,

“Mhm,” Oliver agrees contentedly around his own smile. “I love you,” he murmurs as he sleepily places his hand where it belongs – over Elio’s around his waist.

“Love you too,” Elio whispers as he feels himself fall into the most restful sleep he’s had all week.

Everything is as right as it can be…

In the morning Elio decides not to go out for one of the jogs he’s been going on; it’s good to take a day off at some point in the week, and Oliver would probably ask him about it.

It’s just a good health practice to jog, really – no doctor would say otherwise – but Oliver would probably make something of it after having chipped away at Elio’s habits since they’ve been together. 

A small something, but something.

“Oliver,” he whispers after watching the sun slowly creep across the older man’s peacefully sleeping face.

His heart squeezes at the smile on Oliver’s lips as he hears his voice – smiling before he’s even fully awake.

God he loves him…

“Mm,” Oliver hums, shifting his head on the pillow and giving Elio another angle to admire his features from.

“Oliver,” he whispers again, smiling gently at the softness of the moment. “It’s time to wake up.”

“Nng, why,” Oliver groans, though he’s still smiling as his eyes open slightly. “I was having a really good dream…”

“Oh you were?” Elio asks suggestively. “What was this good dream about?”

Oliver smiles sleepily, though a hint of flirtation comes through.

“Well you were there… and I was there… and there was a bed…”

“A bed? Boring” Elio says, wrinkling his nose in feigned disappointment.

“Boring?” Oliver asks with a raised brow as he shifts closer to Elio, more awake. “You didn’t seem to think the bed was so _boring_ last night.”

“I don’t know what you thought was so spectacular… You’ll have to show me what you mean,” Elio grins, closing the distance between them and climbing on top of Oliver before bringing their mouths together. 

“I think… I can do that,” Oliver agrees enthusiastically between kisses as his hands travel south.

Elio can’t keep the smile off his face – no matter what other lines he has to walk, this part has always been so easy for them, right from the first time they went all the way…

Their bodies often speak truths their tongues can’t manage.

It’s half an hour later before they make their way to the shower to wash off the evidence of their morning’s activities, and Oliver can’t stop smiling to himself either, about how well everything is going. 

He hasn’t felt so at ease all week, and it’s like coming up for air.

He hasn’t decided what to do with Elio’s parents’ cheque yet and they haven’t talked about that panic attack, but he’s okay with all of that at least for now – maybe they just need some easy time together.

“Pancakes?” he asks as they leave the bathroom in a haze of steam, still close and touching.

“Hm, no,” Elio says immediately, untangling himself and heading to his wardrobe. “I’ve already ordered food – I didn’t get any pancakes, but you can order some if you want.”

Oliver tries to suppress the urge to pout.

“I just want to do something lighter after last night,” Elio excuses, after looking back at him.

“You took off half the oil and didn’t touch the cheese, you basically had a plain salad for dinner,” Oliver laughs – a real laugh, Elio is relieved to hear. “But suit yourself,” he shrugs, brushing it off.

It seems the progress he’s made in getting Elio to loosen up his strict health regimen has been lost, but he decides it’s nothing worth rocking the boat over; especially when ‘the boat’ has thus far proven to be a luxury yacht this morning.

“So,” he says with a raised brow after Elio has counted his pills three times when the food arrives a few minutes later. “The food arrived at the same time - did you find a place you like that does meat _and_ good vegetarian food?”

“No,” Elio shrugs, spearing a mushroom. “They just both came quickly – is it good?”

“It is – it’s pretty hard to screw up bacon and eggs,” Oliver laughs.

Elio laughs too, easy and light, and the meal continues with that easy, meandering type of conversation that only two people comfortable in silence can make until Elio places his fork down and links his fingers, resting his chin on them.

“I hardly remember what bacon tasted like,” he muses, looking down at Oliver’ near-empty plate.

“Good, or you’d miss it,” Oliver says around a mouthful, which only makes Elio laugh again.

“How did you ever live on cup noodles and frozen vegetables?” he asks fondly as he stands and makes his way into the kitchen to clean his plate.

“I still do when I’m not with you,” Oliver points out as he spears one last forkful of bacon and egg, before continuing honestly. “It’s much more depressing now.”

“Sorry,” Elio smiles to himself, not sorry at all as he presses a button on his phone and a modern French song comes through the speakers he has placed all around the apartment.

Oliver makes his way over and leans down to kiss the nape of his neck as Elio sings and washes his plate.

“I forget you can speak two whole other languages sometimes,” he sighs with an admiring tone.

 _“Forse dovrei usarli di più,”_ Elio murmurs.

“What does that mean?” Oliver whispers back, unable to keep himself from smiling.

“Maybe I should use them more,” Elio supplies, twisting out of his arms and pulling him by the hands away from the sink.

“You know I can’t dance,” Oliver laughs as Elio swings his arms, moving them back and forth in time with the song.

“Of course you can,” Elio dismisses easily. “I’ve seen drunk you dance on multiple occasions…”

But by the chorus Oliver’s arms still aren’t co-operating, so Elio settles for something like a slow dance, resting his head on the strong chest in front of him as they sway. 

“Let’s never do this week again,” Oliver says, kissing Elio’s hair towards the end of the song as some flute comes in.

“Mm,” Elio agrees, nodding and pressing closer before pulling back and leaning up to kiss Oliver’s cheek.

As he returns to the sink to take care of the rest of the morning’s dishes Oliver brings a hand up to his cheek like he did after the first time Elio kissed him, feeling much the same as he did then, after the week they’ve had.

He’s not at risk of taking this for granted any time soon.

Elio takes them to an arcade they’ve never visited together before and goads Oliver about high scores and bonus points before taking over himself and doing a much better job for his greater experience – though never hitting a high score for all his teasing, as Oliver is quick to point out with a shit-eating grin.

Elio’s answer is a pitifully small but fluffy toy thrown at his chest, bought with the annoyingly few tickets the machines surrendered when his successful games were finished.

He finds himself feeling more at ease than he has all week as he leaves the arcade laughing, though not enough to forget himself like he has before. 

At lunch he counts his pills and orders something new with black beans and lentils that he deems safe, laughing at Oliver as he realises that his own meal is much spicier than he anticipated and orders himself a second ice cold beer to help wash it down.

It makes for a long lunch full of laughter and teasing, and an unusually publicly affectionate Oliver kissing him as they leave the restaurant… 

But as they exit Elio’s more liberal part of town and walk to Oliver’s apartment, it becomes plainly obvious to Elio how much more uncomfortable he becomes even just holding his hand the closer they get.

He frowns as Oliver lets go of his hand altogether crossing a street once and then never re-takes it, placing the pink little bear Elio gave him in his pocket where no one can see it.

At one point they pass two other men who are very clearly together, and it’s so obvious to him that Oliver is trying not to look at them…

How has Elio never noticed just how uncomfortable Oliver is with the idea of being himself in places he deems less than safe?

He finds himself pouting a little, still lost in thought as they enter Oliver’s apartment.

Maybe he’s had things he’s needed to work on, and things he’s needed to confess, but as far as Elio can tell Oliver has gotten through their relationship so far without really discussing what is obviously a pretty big issue for him.

Elio has no experience with inviting other people to share the weight of their problems with him and a lot of experience with subtly asking them not to, but surely he can help Oliver with this?

As he dwells on how to help it strikes Elio that if he focuses in on getting Oliver to delve into this, they can grow closer without him losing his boundaries again – and that’s all he wants. 

It’s Oliver’s turn to share the hard parts, surely?

He has an idea of where to start

“Hey Oliver,” Elio calls as he pours himself a glass of water, his tone curious.

“Mm?” he hums from the couch.

“Have you heard of a movie called Maurice?” Elio asks as he takes a sip and joins him on the couch.

“Should I have?”

Elio places his cup down on the coffee table and burrows under Oliver’s arm, shrugging as he wraps his own arms around his warm waist.

“No, but it’s good. It has sad moments – which of course you’ll love,” he teases sardonically, making Oliver’s lips tug upwards. “But it has a happy ending… You should check if it’s on Netflix or something.”

As Oliver does as he suggests, Elio tries to keep his hopeful look and his small smile to himself, tightening his arms around Oliver.

This is good – he can start with just a movie about men in love that doesn’t end in tragedy, and move from there…

Things can be okay. 

Things can be good again, despite everything…

Better even, perhaps…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'll probably read this on my phone in a day or two and make a bunch of changes after I finish facepalming? Pls don't judge it too harshly)
> 
> Please leave me a comment, they really do make my day even if it takes me ten years to reply :')
> 
> (Also it's been pointed out to me that the title sounds like a Charmie reference, but it's not lol, it's a reference to [the song at the beginning of Uptown Girls](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j0xUjb5Vkz0), which always felt quite sad to me despite my best friend assuring me it's awful and tacky)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio and Oliver notice one another's issues, and a long-needed conversation happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _TW: discussions of internalised homophobia, use of the (not-fuck) F word_
> 
> I asked my friend (Who is a gay man) if he thought it was a good idea for me to write Oliver saying the word (me not being a gay man I felt super uncomfortable writing it). He said that it was important to have it there, so yeah... idk I'm not around it much, so I'm super uncomfortable with it but here we are
> 
> (This is sort of a part 1?)

Two weeks later Oliver has caught on that Elio is showing him movies with a disproportionately high number of gay, happy characters. He’s one more away from asking if he’s missed Pride month or something when the flu hits him like a tonne of bricks.

“I don’t deserve this,” he groans into his phone, congestion clear in his nasal tone. “I swear I’m going to be hallucinating in an hour.”

“Do you know when you got it?” Elio asks, completely bypassing any sympathy until he can determine whether _he’s_ safe.

Oliver notes the heightened urgency in his tone compared to the first time he got sick anywhere near him, just like he’s noticed a lot of Elio’s reactions to things like this changing, but he’s too tired to care – he just wants to get straight to the pity.

“I started to feel like shit yesterday,” Oliver sighs. “Do with that what you will.”

“Nothing before then?”

“No.”

“Well I haven’t seen you in… four days,” Elio calculates aloud. “You’re only infectious the day before symptoms start.”

The relief is palpable even through his factual tone.

“Yayy,” Oliver croaks. “Now bring me chicken soup.”

He knows Elio isn’t going to bring him any chicken soup.

“The flu is dangerous, why didn’t you get a flu shot?” Elio asks sharply, frowning as he blows past Oliver’s joking demand.

“I did,” Oliver sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as Elio continues his lecture about flu season and how Oliver should have a thicker duvet for autumn and winter and the importance of good nutrition in keeping his immune system strong… 

_Why did I even call,_ Oliver wonders.

_It’s going to be a long week…_

Elio does have someone bring him chicken soup that night, for which Oliver is grateful. He seems to have calmed down from his anxious rambling when he picks up the phone as Oliver is eating, smiling at the sound of him actually bothering to take care of himself for once.

In Elio’s mind Oliver might as well be immunocompromised himself from the way he treats himself.

After a long, lonely ten days with just Princess Marshmallow to keep him company – and Sadie occasionally dropping food off to ‘the plague house’ – Elio finally allows Oliver to come over.

Oliver just wants to be close to him and Elio clearly wants that too, though it takes him a moment to lose his cautious stiffness and accept that he can’t be infectious anymore.

Oliver is just happy to have someone holding him at night again, even if he has to go back to work in the morning…

As it occurs to him that he and Elio have been apart for almost three weeks of the last month, he’s suddenly taken by the desire to ask Elio to move in with him. Or more, for Elio to ask him to move in – it doesn’t make sense to have the two of them in his shithole apartment…

But then what would he do if Elio decided to kick him out? And he couldn’t afford half the rent here anyway – he would never own anything here, he’d just be… here, as long as Elio wanted him, and gone if he decided he didn’t anymore. 

Sadie would let him crash at hers but he couldn’t do that forever…

And they haven’t ultimately known each other all that long, Oliver tells himself. They’ve bared more of themselves to each other than almost anyone else, but it’s too early to be thinking things like that.

Oliver tells himself it’s ridiculous and to put the thought from his mind, but it remains. No matter what, it’s a discussion they’ll need to have eventually… 

Not yet, but he doesn’t see how they could move forward from there, and the thought has him up half the night, pretending to sleep so Elio doesn’t awaken and ask him what’s wrong…

He manages to banish the thought well enough as life continues and the weather gets colder as November comes. 

It’s easy enough for them both to get caught up in each other’s business and lose track of their own as Elio continues his efforts to disentangle Oliver’s issues with his sexuality and Oliver becomes more suspicious of Elio’s little ‘preferences’. 

It’s nothing big enough to say anything really, Oliver decides; just a lot of little things with hand washing, and precise health habits, and keeping things more controlled and in order over time…

He’s also started trying to hold his hand _all the time_ even though Oliver knows he can feel how sweaty his palms get when they get too far from Elio’s part of town. 

He knows it’s frustrating but he can’t just make the world a better place, so in an effort to make up for it him Oliver has an extra glass of wine when they’re at a restaurant one night and plucks up the courage to kiss Elio – a proper, long, intentioned kiss – while they wait for the car to arrive.

He can see pride in Elio’s eyes mixed in with the heat as they get into the car and decides he’s done enough damage control to last a while.

But Elio’s efforts continue, much to his discomfort.

One night after another meal, during the preparation of which Elio couldn’t keep his eyes off the path of the raw meat, they fall asleep curled up around each other and Oliver wakes in the middle of the night to the uncomfortable feeling of a clammy forehead pressed against his neck.

“Elio?” he murmurs, disoriented.

The only reply he gets is a quiet sound halfway between a whimper and a groan – not a sound he’s ever heard from Elio before. 

Oliver opens his eyes and turns to see Elio’s pinched expression through the veil of the cold moonlight streaming in through the window.

His mouth is pressed together, the corners turned down like he might begin to cry, and moments later tears hidden by his dark lashes begin to fall down his cheeks as he sleeps.

“Elio,” Oliver says, more urgently now, as Elio’s hold on him tightens, hissing, “Elio, wake up! It’s just a dream.”

Elio doesn’t come around slowly, but gasps awake suddenly, releasing his hold on Oliver in obvious confusion as he brings his hands up to feel the tears on his face. He scurries to the edge of the bed and takes a moment to gather himself there, his feet planted, grounding, on the floor.

Oliver doesn’t miss the way his right hand comes up to rub the deep scar on his chest the way he does when he needs to remember he’s okay.

“Elio?” Oliver whispers after a moment.

He doesn’t reply, but bows his head and pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees static.

“Fuck,” he whispers after a moment as his shoulders slump. “Fuck…”

“…Are you alright?” Oliver asks, feeling useless.

“It’s fine,” Elio says instantly, but it isn’t convincing and he knows it.

He stands and swings the bedroom door open, shutting it and making his way to the bathroom to wash his face – and hopefully wash away his lingering dream.

The closing of the bedroom and bathroom doors was supposed to be an indication that he didn’t want Oliver to follow, but he should have known he would.

As the door swings open and reveals Oliver’s creased brow, Elio stifles a sigh and washes his face again.

“Bad dream?” Oliver asks from behind him, and Elio can’t help but scoff internally.

_Yes, it was a bad dream._

“…Do you want to talk about it?”

_No, I don’t want to talk about it._

Elio doesn’t want to talk about his dream because he dreamt that Oliver lied to him about when he got sick last month. He dreamt that _he_ got sick and ended up in the ICU. That he couldn’t get up from his hospital bed, couldn’t breathe on his own, couldn’t tell anyone his worst nightmares were coming true with the sickness ravaging his body and stilling his secondhand heart… 

He dreamed that despite all the precautions he’s taking, it didn’t matter in the end anyway, because Oliver lied to him.

And he _needs_ not to think that, because Oliver is what makes his life good.

“No, I don’t want to talk about it,” he finally says aloud when his thoughts calm a little and he moves his hand to turn off the cold water, banishing the spectre of Vimini telling him he’s wasting the heart she should have had.

He’s avoided thinking that way for so many years…

“It might help,” Oliver suggests, interrupting his thoughts, and Elio knows he believes it as he moves up behind him and places warm hands on his shoulders. 

He knows Oliver only ever wants to help him and he loves that about him.

But this needs to be left behind. Or locked inside, if that’s not possible. There’s nothing good or helpful to explore here.

Elio sighs and shakes his head, taking a moment to steel himself so his voice doesn’t shake before meeting Oliver’s eyes in the mirror in the low light.

“It was just a bad dream; it’s fine. I can barely even remember it now,” he says, and then an even, “I’m okay.”

He knows he’s obviously not, but he also knows that Oliver is choosing to trust him to make the decision for himself after all he’s confessed to him.

He thanks the god he no longer believes in and tries not to sigh in relief when Oliver nods with understanding eyes and guides them back to bed for one of the rare nights when Elio is being held, rather than doing the holding.

Oliver wakes in the morning to Elio shaking his shoulder with food on the table already – nothing unusual, really.

What is unusual is the way Elio seems to be rushing him, already having counted his pills three times and wolfed down his own leafy breakfast by the time Oliver is halfway through his own.

He barely has a chance to ask if Elio is really okay after his nightmare before his plate is being taken to the kitchen and rinsed.

He shoos him into the shower almost immediately after – ‘shoos’ is definitely the right word – and Oliver is beginning to suspect that Elio has booked something for them to do today as he pulls on his coat, when the elevator dings and Elio whips his head around before seeming to deflate.

He recovers in time to paste a smile on his face though – it’s not Josephine’s fault Elio’s failed to get out of the place in time to keep Oliver from finding out about his new cleaner.

“Hi, Josie,” he greets, aiming for a light tone.

“Mor-ning,” Josie singsongs as she carts her equipment in.

Oliver doesn’t try to hide his confusion. 

She’s young, blonde, sunny… not really what he expects for a cleaning professional.

_And since when does Elio have a cleaner?_

“You haven’t even left a mess for me to clean,” she complains lightly as she places her things down, before turning to Oliver and holding out a hand for him to shake. “You must be Oliver.”

“Uh, yeah,” Oliver says as he accepts her handshake and tries not to be too thrown by the sudden presence of a stranger in a space that usually feels like a sanctuary. 

He feels a sense of foreboding despite her friendliness.

“Nice to meet you,” she smiles before turning to Elio with her hands on her hips and a raised brow. “You’re wasting good money, but I’ll go over everything if you want.”

“Thanks Josie,” he smiles. The smile dims a little as he hesitates before saying, “Actually, the kitchen was used last night, so can you do that first? It could probably use a scrub – preferably before the litter and stuff…”

His laugh is uncomfortable, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck in an obvious sign of unease.

 _The litter?_ Oliver wonders as he studies the younger man with his mind whirring. _Is he not changing Luna’s litter himself anymore?_

“Kitchen before litter, I promise,” Josie assures with a joking smile like she deals with clients like Elio all the time, before waving and pulling out a bottle of disinfectant and a pair of gloves, and getting to work.

“Sooo…” Elio says, long and drawn out, as they ride the elevator down. “Do you wanna try the arcade again? Or maybe a new bookshop, or…?”

Oliver shakes his head a little, a line still halving his brow in his confusion – he does have the day off and they should do something with it, but he needs to say what he’s thinking first.

“Elio, you keep your place spotless – and you already cleaned the kitchen before bed last night… why do you need a cleaner?”

He tries to keep his tone more amused than accusative, but there’s an uncomfortable feeling in his throat as he fully acknowledges that it’s not just him, and Elio really is being just a little too health conscious – almost paranoid.

“She’s mostly here because of Luna’s litter,” Elio explains, going for casual. 

“…What about it?” Oliver asks, still lost.

“Well… cats can get you really sick with their shit,” Elio explains.

“Yeah, if you’re like… the heroin addict who died in Trainspotting,” Oliver says doubtfully.

“I haven’t seen it,” Elio shrugs as the doors open and they make their way onto the street. “But you know what I mean then – you can _die_ from it.”

“I mean yeah, but you’re not… rolling around on the floor with it; that’s the whole point of the tray,” Oliver says, no longer trying to temper his puzzled reaction as he stops and pulls Elio to the side of a building so people won’t run into them. “I could have cleaned it for you, if you wanted.”

“It’s fine,” Elio shrugs, obviously annoyed at being pulled aside, and uncomfortable. “It’s probably good to have someone go over the apartment properly every once in a while anyway – it’s bigger than yours; it’s harder to clean.”

He feels like he’s a child explaining himself to his mother. 

“How often is she coming in?” Oliver demands.

“Every Wednesday – you’re not usually here Wednesday mornings, so she won’t be there when you’re there very often, it’s fine,” Elio says like an excuse, trying to give them an out on the real issue at hand.

 _Once a_ week _?_ Oliver thinks.

He makes a quick decision to just be direct – he can’t help if Elio won’t admit it.

“You’ve been freaking out since the morning after my birthday, haven’t you?”

Elio’s mind whirs so fast it almost seems to stop for a moment.

Maybe Oliver will let him be if he admits it, the way he’s let Oliver’s anxiety around strangers be because he knows he’s aware of it.

He looks down, picks a speck of dirt from under a fingernail.

“Well… yeah,” he admits. “It scared me. It makes me feel better to do what I can not to get sick. Don’t you _want_ me to feel safe?”

Even as he adds that little protective barb at the end Elio notes how strange it is, that he feels relieved to be sharing even just a little of what he’s been hiding from Oliver, after a lifetime of concealing himself.

Oliver looks a little wounded at the question, but Elio doesn’t apologise – he’s given him what he asked for.

“Of course I want you to feel safe,” Oliver says gently after a moment, a hint of regret in his tone. “I just…” 

He sighs. 

“I just don’t want you to start giving up freedoms to do it.”

And Elio appreciates the sentiment – truly he does – but in his mind there’s nothing he can do to give himself freedoms he doesn’t have. He’s always going to be compromised, so if he needs to hire a cleaner to get rid of his cat’s shit to feel okay? It’s really nothing.

And besides, how does Oliver not see the irony of what he’s said?

“Did you even hear yourself just now?” he huffs. 

The line between Oliver’s brows deepens.

“What do you mean, ‘did I hear myself’?” he asks, open confusion in his voice.

Elio gestures to the space between them, shaking his head, imploring Oliver to see.

“You give up _so many_ freedoms to feel safe,” he exclaims. “You won’t even hold my hand most of the time when we’re out, you can only kiss me in public when you’ve been drinking… You’re not even standing close to me when we’re talking right now because you’re afraid. _You’re_ not free the second we leave the apartment!”

Elio’s exasperation is clear as he tries to keep his voice down – maybe he’s not afraid to be seen with his boyfriend but he’s not about to make a scene.

Oliver seems to be choking on his words, having no answer to Elio’s outburst.

“It’s not the eighteen hundreds, or the eighties – or even the _nineties,_ Oliver… what are you so afraid of?” 

Oliver’s eyes move down to where he’s picking his nails again and don’t move up as he frowns at the question.

He can’t deny he’s afraid. He hates it being pointed out like this because he doesn’t see a way past it the way he does with Elio’s issues, but he knows it’s obvious.

“…I don’t know,” he finally says.

His mind is clearly far from any thoughts he might have had about Elio this morning, much to the younger man’s relief. 

_Good – it’s his turn to dissect his shit,_ Elio thinks with clashing senses of satisfaction and remorse.

In the end it’s the softer emotion that wins out.

An age seems to pass before Elio lifts his eyes and places a hand on Oliver’s arm, but in reality it’s only a moment or two.

“Hey,” he says, prompting Oliver to meet his gaze. “Let’s just forget about it for now – we still need to talk about it, but… we can’t do this here and Josie will be in the apartment for a while.”

Oliver doesn’t back down completely, doesn’t apologise or give in… but he does nod and make an effort to school his expression.

“Okay,” he says, tone carefully neutral. 

Elio nods and nudges Oliver until they’re moving again, deciding that they will in fact be going to the arcade again – they need an activity that doesn’t involve too much talking, for a while.

They’re going to be doing enough talking for the day later, he’s decided.

They’re sitting on the floor at the end of the day driving Luna crazy with one of her toys, when Elio’s smile slowly fades and he drops his eyes from the cat to the floor in front of him as he fiddles with the toy.

“…So,” he says slowly, not knowing how to start these things.

Instantly Oliver knows the other shoe is dropping, unused to being on this side of the interrogation.

Elio takes some small joy in seeing that, after all he’s confessed, but it’s extinguished when he considers how to go about beginning this conversation.

“…’So’ what?” Oliver asks, as though he doesn’t know.

Elio levels a stare that says, _don’t play dumb,_ before gathering his thoughts and beginning simply and factually after a few more moments of silence.

“So… I’ve been trying to hold your hand more and show you certain movies to make you be more comfortable being yourself,” he says, studying Oliver for a reaction.

Instantly he can tell Oliver is a little annoyed at the idea of anyone trying to influence him like that – he’s fine with being given advice that he can choose to take or leave, but this kind of ‘guidance’ riles him a little.

He did see what Elio was doing though… none of it was subtle enough to be called a manipulation.

“What do you mean, ‘with being myself’?” Oliver finally asks, unable to keep the defensive tone out of his voice.

Elio doesn’t mince words.

“I’m trying to help you be comfortable with being gay,” he says. 

Oliver stiffens.

“…Because you are,” Elio asserts, eyes locked onto Oliver’s, though they don’t lift to meet his.

It’s almost like Oliver was about to instinctually insist that he’s _not gay,_ but stopped himself at the last second.

He shakes his head in denial.

“Elio, I’m not uncomfortable with the fact that I like men,” he insists. “I just don’t advertise it to strangers who might literally beat me up for it.”

“Sure you’re not uncomfortable,” Elio says, a challenge in his voice.

“I’m not!” Oliver insists in a raised voice, prompting Luna to scurry away on her three legs as Elio shakes his head.

“Oliver, it is not just _‘out there’_ that you’re uncomfortable with it,” he says with a sigh. “You can’t even _say_ that you’re gay.”

A flush of discomfort and anger comes to Oliver’s cheeks at the word.

“I _just_ said that I like men!”

“Fine,” Elio shrugs with mocking casualness. “If you’re so comfortable with it, then just tell me that you’re gay. It’s just me; say the words, ‘I am gay’.”

Elio’s stare becomes hard as he watches Oliver’s brow set, the flush not leaving his cheeks.

 _It’s so obvious Oliver, just give it up,_ he thinks with a sympathy at odds with his expression.

“I just…” Oliver begins. “I’m fine with liking men, I just don’t like that word very much,” he says obviously in turmoil and pissed off at having to explain himself. 

“Well what would you rather call yourself?” Elio asks, half-genuine, half-rhetorical. “A friend of Dorothy? Homosexual?”

“God, no, that’s so much worse,” Oliver groans, his ire coming through in his next words. “Why can’t I just call myself whatever I want?”

“Because there’s clearly something wrong if you can’t call yourself what you are!”

“Well it’s fucking easy for _you,_ Elio!” Oliver yells, gesturing. “It’s easy when you’ve got the ‘sexy’ label! Who doesn’t want to be fucking _bisexual?!”_

Elio raises his eyebrows, surprised at the outburst – Oliver has never expressed any feelings one way or another about his sexuality, to him. 

But the surprise on his face quickly turns into a sarcastic, amazed huff as he closes his eyes and shakes his head as though to clear it.

“Well _that’s_ clearly something else we’re going to have to talk about at some point,” Elio says, not hiding his annoyance, though it doesn't escape him the difference between now and how he used to feel about talking things out.

“Why can’t you just leave it alone?” Oliver asks, torn between wanting to retreat into misery and wanting to fight back so Elio will put the topic to bed.

“Why can’t _you_ just admit that you have an issue here so we can _work_ on it?” Elio pushes. “I want to be able to hold hands with you whenever I want, I want to kiss you in public when you’re not fucking drunk! I want you to be able to say, ‘I am gay’ and not shiver,” he says, before delivering an ultimatum. “Either you can say it right now and I’ll drop it, or you’re admitting that there’s something there.”

There’s a long moment where they just sit across from one another in a tense silence. Elio isn’t about to be the one to break it.

The moment in the rhythm of the conversation where Oliver is supposed to say it or give in passes, and he’s still not sure how to get out of this.

He huffs out an exasperated breath.

“Well it feels wrong to say it _now,_ it’s too quiet!”

“It shouldn’t feel _wrong!”_ Elio exclaims, his voice echoing in the apartment as he snaps. “God, I have admitted so much to you, just fucking _admit_ it!”

Oliver shrinks at the anger in Elio’s voice. 

He feels pulled out of himself, like his defensiveness has been stripped away for a moment, as he recognises that he hasn’t really had to work on anything in himself for Elio yet. He’s pushed Elio on a lot of things, and he’s going to push some more – how can he do that if he won’t give this to him?

Just because it feels wrong to begin the work, doesn’t mean he shouldn’t do it. 

“Fine,” he says, honestly, softly. “I’m uncomfortable with it.”

It feels like he has a stomach bug – he doesn’t feel any less sick for what’s come out. 

Elio isn’t quite sure how to respond to Oliver’s sudden change in demeanour. He has no experience riding the ups and downs of these kinds of conversations.

He moves closer and begins to play softly with the work-hardened fingers of the man he loves as he continues, looking down to where they’re touching to make it easier for him to be open.

“It’s easy with you, here. Away from everyone out there, and everything my parents wanted me to believe about people like me,” he murmurs.

There’s a catch in his voice as he says ‘me’. There’s a lot he just never thinks about in relation to himself…

He closes his eyes for a moment as he gets to the truth of it.

“…But most of the time I’m _not_ here,” he emphasises, frowning. “Most of the time I still need to hide it, because it’s not safe – at work, in certain parts of town…”

His frown deepens as he burrows deeper into his feelings about it all – the same feelings that were making him angry before. 

“I _don’t_ like to say it,” he asserts, agitated. “I don’t like the word. It makes me… It makes me feel like I _am_ all of the things my father said I was when he threw me out, to say that I’m—”

Even now the word is dust in his mouth before it even comes out. It just feels wrong, there’s too much _attached_ to it to say it referring to himself.

“…You really can’t say it, can you?” Elio asks, sympathy in his voice.

“No, because I’m _not,”_ Oliver insists, his voice hardening as something sparks in him at the words. 

He takes his hands from Elio’s and pulls at his hair in frustration as everything he’s feeling beneath the surface comes tumbling out – telling himself as much as Elio.

“I’m _not_ all the things he said _‘those people’_ were,” he says like a vow. “I don’t wear makeup, and I don’t want to be a woman, and I’m not _‘taking it up the ass’_. I’m not _whoring_ myself for drugs, and I’m not riddled with fucking _diseases_ because I’m not a _fucking faggot.”_

The only sound in the room following the word is a short, sharp intake of breath from Elio.

In the terrible silence Oliver drops his head into his hands.

That felt just as wrong coming out of his mouth as the other word, and yet it tumbled out so easily in anger, like venom.

It feels like he’s back with his parents bearing over him, to sit in the room with the word his father hurled at him as he left, and he’s the one that put it here.

“Oliver,” Elio breathes – with shock in his voice, yes, but also love, and compassion, and understanding…

Oliver feels a sob building in his throat at the sound, but the feeling disappears as quickly as it came. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, instantly backtracking. “I didn’t mean to say all that, I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” Elio says quickly, moving forward and attempting to pull Oliver’s arms from his face. “I’m glad you said all of that, I wish you had sooner… why are you sorry?”

Oliver doesn’t want to reveal his face yet, and he’s strong enough that Elio can’t make him.

“Oliver… please look at me,” Elio pleads sadly, slowly letting go of his arms as a low guilt sets in.

He really didn’t mean to work Oliver up into that tonight.

 _Must be a natural at this after all,_ he thinks darkly.

Slowly, Oliver sighs and lowers his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, not lifting his eyes.

“Why are you sorry?” Elio asks once more.

“I don’t know,” Oliver sighs, looking to the side, pensive. “For… saying the word, I guess. You shouldn’t have to hear it because of my shit.”

_Always expecting the best for everyone but yourself..._

Elio tilts his head and brings his hands up to force Oliver to look at him.

“The word doesn’t hurt me Oliver,” he says earnestly. “Not more than it hurts you.”

Oliver swallows the lump rising in his throat and nods. 

“I guess I didn’t… I haven’t really thought about it. Or I’ve tried not to,” he says, his voice beginning to shake though he doesn’t let any tears fall.

“You can tell me about it,” Elio implores, but he just shakes his head. “…You can cry, Oliver,” he says gently.

The invitation to fall apart forces Oliver to bite his lip to keep his expression from crumpling, but he keeps his control by a thread.

He’s not even sure what he’s afraid of, but he can’t cry like this. 

_This must have been how Elio felt that night when he first told me something real,_ he thinks. _He didn’t want to be crying either._

Staring at him Elio is brought back to the night when Oliver saw his sister at the bar – he was so willing to talk about the situation then, why can’t he do it now?

 _Maybe he just can’t do it like this at first – completely sober,_ Elio thinks. _Maybe that’s how he and Sadie got so close…_

Oliver takes several deep breaths, and slowly stands. Elio stands with him, eyes taking in his every movement to decide how to help.

He plants himself on the sofa and sits with his hands clasped between his legs. 

Elio pauses for a moment before collecting Luna from where she’s wandered back out and placing her down next to Oliver while he walks to the kitchen. 

He pours two glasses of wine though he has no intention of drinking his, and makes his way back to the sofa - whatever makes the initial conversation easier for Oliver to bear.

He passes Oliver his overfilled glass as he’s petting Luna’s soft fur and looks him in the eyes.

“Come on,” he says gently. “Tell me about your family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought, I feel about 900% more uncertain about posting this now than I did yesterday


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver talks about his life growing up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too much to say about this one... As usual I'm not sure about it, but I hope you enjoy it ❤️

Oliver sits holding his glass for a time, staring at the ground.

_How is it that I can want to talk so badly and want to stay quiet at the same time?_

He takes several long sips, entirely aware of why the wine was poured – it bothers him a little that Elio knew bringing it out would make it easier, but he’ll take what he can get.

“My parents made me repeat second grade,” he says eventually, offhand.

Elio tilts his head in his peripheral vision as he wonders why he’s never asked why someone as intelligent as Oliver graduated late.

“My teacher thought it was crazy because I wasn’t actually failing anything, but they did it to teach me a lesson – ‘good enough’ wasn’t good enough,” Oliver explains. “I was almost a straight-A student when I graduated, but they never said anything positive about it.”

Elio isn’t sure what this has to do with Oliver being gay, but he stays silent, sensing that he just needs to keep talking. 

As long as he’s talking it’s good.

“I knew why they were doing it but I still wanted them to be proud of me and say that I was good enough in the end so I tried really hard, for a long time,” Oliver says. “It was only when I saw the way April didn’t care as she got older, and the way she studied for _herself_ , that I started to relax a little.”

Oliver turns to look at Elio as the wine begins loosening him up, and sees him nodding with an open, sombre expression. 

“It’s still my father’s voice telling me I’m stupid when I don’t understand something I’m studying, or when something I’ve written doesn’t make sense when I read it back,” he explains, holding Elio’s gaze. “It’s less, but… the fear is still there.”

“Fear of what?” Elio asks, searching his eyes.

“Fear of… not being good enough,” he shrugs, looking down. 

_Not being good enough to make up for being… defective,_ he thinks, but he doesn’t say it.

“He’s not here to tell me I’m not enough anymore, so I guess… my brain just fills in the blank where he always was,” he says instead.

“…Why haven’t you told me you felt this way?” Elio asks, sounding very quietly heartbroken. “I thought—”

“I don’t always feel that way,” Oliver interrupts, rubbing his thumb over his glass and taking another sip.

Elio’s not sure what to say to that or what Oliver really means to communicate to him, so he pretends to drink his own wine though he only wets his lips before placing the glass back on the table. 

“Brandon knew exactly how to make them happy and that didn’t help but I had April, and my Bubbe on my mom’s side until she died,” Oliver explains.

His tone holds that complex mixture of warmth for someone you’ve loved dearly, and cold, lonesome grief for their passing come too soon.

Elio knows how he feels.

“She always told me I was good, and smart, and…” 

Oliver frowns, thinking for a long moment.

“…Lovable,” he says, his voice thick on the word as unbidden tears gather unexpectedly in his eyes before he can stop them. 

It’s clear he doesn’t mean lovable in the doting sense that people usually do – he means that she was the first person to tell him that he was someone others could _love_ the way he was.

Elio moves closer and leans into his side; close enough if he needs him, but not crowding him if he doesn’t.

“She hated my father,” Oliver laughs wetly, wiping his nose as Elio leans his head on his shoulder in comfort. “She hated who my mom became when she met him…”

Elio notes that Oliver is much quicker – and easier – to tears when he talks about someone he’s loved, rather than someone who has hurt him.

“I think she knew about me,” he says thickly, with a sniff. “The way she spoke sometimes, I think she knew before _I_ did and she was trying to convince me it was okay before she had to leave me with them.”

Oliver stops abruptly to keep himself from losing too much control on the last words, bringing his free hand up to wipe his eyes as fresh tears fall.

That really is how he felt when his Bubbe died – like he was being left behind, despite that he still had his sister… His father hadn’t wanted him to cry about her.

_God, this is so private… I haven’t even thought about this in so long._

As his tears fall faster Elio can see that Oliver becomes a different person when he thinks of his grandmother. Someone who can cry, can admit that he just wanted to be loved, growing up.

He seems almost like the child it seems she allowed him to be – without those walls and barriers built to keep him protected from these feelings.

Elio brings an arm around Oliver’s back and kisses his shoulder as he feels him begin to tremble. But he doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to say anything right now; the, _‘I love you, and I’ll be here when you’re ready’,_ is implied.

After what could be thirty seconds or five minutes Oliver speaks.

“I wish I’d told her,” he says tearfully, curling up a little.

Elio instinctually gestures for him to bring his legs up over his lap and soon he’s settled them, holding Oliver that way despite the disparity in their sizes.

“I knew, by the time she died when I was in middle school,” Oliver explains. “But I didn’t tell anyone. I knew from what I’d been told to believe that no one was going to be on my side if it got out, so I put a lot of effort into covering it up… I was kind of an asshole,” he laughs for a moment before the corners of his mouth turn down and a few fresh tears fall.

He takes a moment to compose himself with the fresh onslaught of memories of how he behaved back then.

He tries so hard not to think about all this and just move on…

“I wasn’t that bad, really, but… I think it felt good to do whatever I wanted at school if I couldn’t around my parents. I wanted to prove that I wasn’t all the things my father always said people like me were. April always said she didn’t understand why, when I was so different around her – she thought it was just me following my friends, which wasn’t wrong, exactly… 

“You would have hated me in school,” he says darkly, condemning himself.

“…Maybe who you pretended to be,” Elio gives with a nod, struggling to picture Oliver the way he’s describing his past self. “But I could never hate who you really are.”

He kisses Oliver’s temple as he frowns at the words and then nods, and breathes through the reassurance shakily. He doesn’t speak for a while, taking a long time getting his breath under control.

He's a lot more ashamed of who he's been than he thought...

His voice is calmer when he continues; almost flat.

“My father would hit us sometimes,” he says, broaching the new subject.

It occurs to Elio that Oliver never refers to him as his ‘dad’.

“How bad was it?” he asks softly.

“How bad is bad?” Oliver shrugs. “They travelled for business so it wasn’t constant, but it’s not like he never left bruises – he didn’t hit mom or April at least,” he says with living relief in his voice.

He thinks for a moment.

“He never really hit Brandon either,” he says as though the thought is just occurring to him. His expression clouds with anger and grief. “It’s like he always knew there was something wrong with me…”

Elio fights the urge to correct Oliver uselessly – there’s nothing _wrong_ with him, but he’s not going to solve that way of thinking deep down tonight.

“Did you… try things, when they were away then?” he asks delicately, instead.

He’s curious how Oliver could behave the way he says he has and clearly feel so much shame, and still experiment with that suppressed side of himself in order to get caught.

“Yeah,” Oliver says, and sniffs, looking down at his hands. “I got pretty good at… compartmentalising, who I was when I was with my parents, with April, at school… I guess I kind of sectioned off the part of me that met up with other terrified high school boys to exchange bathroom blowjobs,” he laughs tearfully.

Elio tilts his head in understanding as Oliver confesses.

“It was really hard to have all of those parts of myself exposed at once when my father found out,” he says, biting his lip to keep his control, though his voice trembles. “It felt like I was… four different circles going into one square hole.”

A quiet moment passes where there should be tears or words, and Elio turns to look at Oliver just in time to see him take a leap.

“I thought about killing myself when they found out,” he says abruptly, like a gunshot in the silence, before taking a sip to wash the words down. “I couldn’t see a way for it to be okay again and after everything he said when I left… I couldn’t stop thinking about what all of my friends were going to think about me when they found out, couldn’t stop thinking about April’s face when he told her what I’d been doing…”

Oliver frowns, his anger keeping his tears at bay momentarily – so much of this is still fresh, still unexplored within him.

“I knew I was just going to be… a punchline,” he says bitterly, wiping his cheeks dry. “The thought of anyone seeing me that way, seeing me do things we’d made fun of people for… My whole life had been about hiding this _defect_ for so long, I couldn’t see how to move forward from there now that I’d failed.”

Elio is suddenly full of adrenaline at Oliver’s words, like he needs to stop him from doing something drastic _right this second_ though the feelings he’s talking about have been past for a year and a half by now.

He’s fought so hard to live… Elio can’t fathom wanting to die.

“Oliver—”

“I met Sadie though,” he says, before Elio can try to convince him to live a life he’s already decided to live. “Things were… bad, at first, but they got better after I knew her and I saw that the whole world really wasn’t like the one I grew up in. And then it got even better once I knew you.”

Oliver smiles as he says the words but his smile can’t take Elio away from his horror.

He sees it and sighs. 

_Maybe I shouldn’t have told him that._

They sit in silence, Oliver drinking his wine and waiting for Elio to stop looking at him that way. Eventually Elio closes his eyes and tries to clear his thoughts – he can’t be stuck on this one piece of new information the whole time.

No matter what’s happened, Oliver is still here, and while it’s been helpful to hear about how things used to be, Elio knows he needs to focus on what brought them here.

“Oliver,” he says.

“Mm?”

“Why is it that you can say that you like men, but not that you’re gay?”

Oliver sighs and takes a long sip from his glass.

He thinks, for a time – he needs a better answer than ‘I don’t know’.

“It doesn’t— feel like it… fits me,” he says slowly, haltingly.

Elio frowns.

“You like men,” he says.

“Yes.”

“And you don’t like women.”

There’s a pause.

“No.”

“…I don’t understand, how does ‘gay’ not fit that description? Why doesn’t it fit?” Elio asks, trying to understand, but unable to see what could feel so wrong about the word.

It’s never meant anything bad to him.

“Elio…” Oliver sighs, putting down his near-empty glass and leaning back on the arm of the couch, pulling his arms to his stomach protectively. “I wasn’t brought up like you. I wasn’t exposed to anything… accepting. I didn’t even know there was a _word_ for what I was until I was told that it was disgusting, and wrong. I didn’t go to a school like yours – the only gay kid at my school was…”

Oliver pauses, considering his phrasing before deciding he should just say it the only way he knows how; who would he be offending here after all? Elio likes girls _and_ boys – he’s not gay.

He swallows the strange lump of resentment rising in his throat at the thought and speaks.

“He acted like a _girl,”_ he says with force. “And he was tortured for it every day because he couldn’t hide it. _That’s_ what I grew up seeing as… gay. It’s changed a little bit for other people since I’ve been away from that but I don’t know how to stop seeing it that way where it relates to _me_. It feels like… calling myself the other word.”

As Oliver finishes Elio understands why he is the way he is with this; why he hasn’t tried to attack the real problem in any meaningful way, in the year he’s been away from his father.

The damaging way he sees being _‘gay’_ – and thus how he’s afraid to be seen – is not a sharp, sudden wound that cries for his attention and demands that he treat it. 

It’s a lifetime of living in a box that’s too small. 

It’s affected the shape of him as he’s grown, to the point where he doesn’t know how to stand up straight even now that he’s free of its confines. It’s easy for him to ignore the call to heal properly when the healing will hurt more than the dull ache of the injury moment to moment, and he can get on okay as he is. 

He can walk with a limp and still walk.

Elio turns his eyes to Oliver, who lifts his gaze to meet them. They stare for a moment as Elio’s mouth opens and he tries to figure out what to say.

“…I know I don’t understand what it’s like growing up the way you did – I get that more, now,” he asserts, giving Oliver a look to drive home his understanding before he continues. “But you understand that you need to change how you feel about calling yourself gay, don’t you? It’s not okay.”

Oliver can’t hold his gaze to the end, dropping his eyes to where his fingers are fiddling.

It’s a foreign concept, when directed at him.

How many times has he told Elio he _needs_ to talk about something because it clearly bothers him? Why does it feel so unnecessary now that it’s for him?

He sighs in acceptance at the thought, though everything feels wrong.

“I know,” he mumbles, before shivering involuntarily. “…I just don’t know how to undo it all.”

_How can I change how I feel about something so big?_

“It would be like becoming a whole different person,” he murmurs.

“People do it all the time,” Elio says instantly with a small smile of encouragement, sensing a precarious moment. “You’ve already started,” he points out. “You’re a different person than you used to be already.”

He uses a hand to stop Oliver’s fidgeting and then to lift his chin, leaning in.

“Okay?” he says, reassurance in his voice. 

There’s fear in Oliver’s eyes – of change, of hurting, of delving into something he’d rather bury and tiptoe around… but after a moment of searching Elio’s eyes, it dissolves into something like trust.

“Okay,” he says softly, his lip trembling again at the love he saw in Elio’s gaze – a love he only feels comfortable basking in when they’re alone.

_Elio deserves better, if nothing else,_ he thinks. 

He leans into him as tears begin to fall once again, wrapping his arms around him and hiding his burning cheeks.

“I’m sorry… this is so stupid,” he berates himself, though his crying only deepens, breaking up his words. “It shouldn’t… be this big a deal, that my parents… said some shitty things to me growing up.”

“It _is_ a big deal,” Elio pushes softly, running his fingers through his hair. “It’s not stupid…”

He didn’t know Oliver could make sounds like these – it’s not heaving sobs, it’s… quiet, and deep.

He can’t decide if he should feel honoured that he’s willing to cry like this in front of him, or just sad.

It’s always kindness, and reassurance that break Oliver.

Elio is glad that it’s coming up now and not earlier, in that moment. Even just a few months ago he wouldn’t have been able to help Oliver with this; wouldn’t have had the tools or the inclination to help him.

He still has no idea how to help, really – no idea how to change Oliver’s perceptions, and assuage his fears enough to make him comfortable identifying with a word he can barely _say…_

Absolutely no idea.

But maybe if he focuses his attention, he can find a way to help Oliver and help himself at the same time; what could be a better distraction from what’s happening with himself, after all?

It’s too early for bed, so when Oliver’s tears eventually slow to a stop Elio holds his face in his hands and kisses his salty cheeks.

He can’t help but think on how many times Oliver has shown this kind of protectiveness for him, in the moment… it’s his turn to repay it.

“What do you want to do?” he almost whispers.

Oliver looks down for a moment, feeling completely emotionally disoriented.

Is he just supposed to eat dinner and watch a movie after that? After so many years of dismissed hurt coming out? 

“I don’t know… can we just lie here for a while?” he asks quietly as he looks back up, shadows under his eyes.

Elio smiles softly, sadly.

“Of course we can,” he replies, and then repositions them so they’re more stretched out on the couch, just listening to each other’s breathing.

It soothes Oliver, but in the silence Elio bites his lip. 

He might be out of his depth here. 

After a few minutes he turns on some quiet music to soften his thoughts, and not long after Oliver is asleep.

In a way it relieves Elio, but it also makes him fret – Oliver is always tired, often under the weather, always quick to fall asleep… 

He just doesn’t take care of himself.

He sighs and studies Oliver’s red nose and puffy eyelids, takes in the dark circles under his eyes…

There’s so much work to do, to help Oliver… he’s not the only one here who needs extra care right now.

 _Oliver should focus less on whether my apartment is being cleaned and more on his own health,_ he thinks with a sigh.

Though in the back of his mind he’s noticing Oliver’s shoes that have taken him all around New York today up on the couch as he sleeps and making a mental note to ask Josie about ways to disinfect fabrics between her visits…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm [jeffersonhairpin](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/jeffersonhairpin) on tumblr, messages and asks are 1000% welcome :)
> 
> Please leave me a comment, I'd love to know what you thought/felt!
> 
> If you're in the US good luck today ❤️❤️


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Elio and Oliver are working on changing Oliver's feelings about 'the g word' Elio's worsening issues slip under the radar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter is TRASH and probably riddled with mistakes but it's 7.5k and I had a lot to get through and my brain has felt like sludge for _weeks_ and I just need to get it out before I drive myself insane 😭😭 
> 
> I hope it's enjoyable nonetheless :)

Elio does manage to get Oliver into bed for the night in the end, and so he finds himself gently stroking his hair in the time between waking and getting up the next morning.

He lets out a soft sigh and presses a kiss to Oliver’s temple.

 _Remember the first night, when he thought he had to be the big spoon?_ Elio’s brain supplies, and he can’t stop a warm smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth at that.

…But it fades as it occurs to him that really, the only reason Oliver had never been held before was that his upbringing taught him that he should do the holding – ultimately because of the same ideas he was crying about last night.

Elio wonders whether Oliver’s mother ever held him the way his own did – did his parents ever look at him with pride when he was learning to walk and talk, or were their expectations too high from the beginning?

He wonders about the moment when Oliver realised that he liked boys, and the moment he realised he _didn’t_ like girls… did he cry? Was he angry at himself?

He wonders what the morning after a night like last night will be like, but he doesn’t try to come up with a plan or anything… it went well when he just let Oliver talk.

Elio hopes Oliver will start to volunteer information, like he used to…

He’s just about to shake his shoulder so his alarm doesn’t startle him a few minutes later, when he feels a change in his breathing.

“Mm,” Oliver hums, shifting towards his warmth, though the apartment is heated from floor to ceiling.

“Morning,” Elio says, kissing Oliver’s nose. 

He doesn’t want everything to get heavy straight away. Sure Oliver let out some painful emotions last night and sure it’s brought up a lot they’re going to have to work on, but ultimately it’s a positive thing and he wants him to see it that way.

It’s not _just_ a burden, it’s also an opportunity to live a better life.

“How did my handsome boyfriend sleep?” Elio asks with a smirk in his voice.

“Nng,” Oliver groans as he begins to stretch, a begrudging smile forming on his face. “You’re going to be laying it on thick aren’t you?”

 _“Absolument,”_ Elio agrees, admiring the way the sun plays with the older man’s hair.

“French bastard,” Oliver sighs, relaxing into the bed and looking up at him.

“Italian bastard too,” Elio reminds as he looks back down, taking in the remaining post-cry puffiness around Oliver’s eyes and the messy state of his hair. 

He bites the inside of his lip.

“…You okay?” he asks, unable to hold it in.

Oliver takes a moment to think, and Elio is grateful in the moment that he isn’t just brushing it off.

“I think so,” he finally settles on, looking down to where his fingers are playing with the duvet. “Obviously I have some things to… work on,” he says, a hint of embarrassment and shame in his voice. “But I’m feeling okay, right now.”

Elio leans over, rests his head on his broad chest, and catches his eye.

“Love you,” he says gently.

Oliver smiles at that, leaning down to press their lips together.

“Love you too,” he says.

It’s a little strange when they finally get up; a little quiet. Both of them are unsure of how to move forward with the day.

“Shower?” Elio asks, raising his eyebrows.

Oliver nods, and to his surprise takes his hand and leads them both to the bathroom.

 _Maybe this will be easier than I thought,_ he considers as they undress and enter the large shower.

But he can see Oliver’s earlier calm disappearing as he lathers the soap and then pauses.

“What is it?” Elio asks, tilting his head.

“I just, uh…” Oliver begins, rinsing the suds in his hands away. “What are you planning on… _doing?”_ he asks as an anxious line appears between his brows.

Elio waits for more but none comes, so he places his fingertips on Oliver’s hips and pulls him closer.

“What do you mean, ‘doing’?”

Oliver shrugs, instinctually placing his hands on Elio’s forearms and drifting closer.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs again. “You want me to be more comfortable with being myself – whoever that is,” he mutters as an afterthought. 

_‘Yourself’ is Oliver – my Oliver,_ Elio thinks, but he lets him say what he means to say.

“You’re not going to—” Oliver swallows. “I don’t know, tell people at work so I have to be comfortable with them knowing, or something – right?”

Elio recoils slightly, shocked.

“I’m not going to out you, Oliver,” he says as he pulls back, his expression almost offended. “I would… I could never do that to you.”

Oliver nods rapidly, not meeting his gaze as he backtracks.

“Okay, okay,” he says quickly. “Sorry, I know you wouldn’t, I just—” 

He sighs.

“I don’t know, I’m just… scared,” he finally settles on, and Elio’s expression softens.

It amazes him how Oliver can love him and go out on dates with him and be held by him most nights, and still be so spooked at the thought of being openly out.

“It’s okay,” he says, coming closer again, pulling them into an embrace. “Thank you for telling me you’re scared,” he murmurs into his shoulder. 

Oliver huffs a small laugh.

“Like it wasn’t obvious,” he says, low.

“Who wouldn’t be scared?” Elio asks, before taking a moment to just enjoy their nearness.

They’re so warm, and close, and… safe, here.

“I’ve never cared about anyone like I’ve cared about you,” he says softly, and it’s true.

Bar his parents, he’s certainly never cared enough about anyone else to let them make him sad or hear his secrets.

The words make Oliver feel a little better, but not all the way there. He’s still afraid of what becoming comfortable calling himself _gay_ , will entail.

How could it ever feel anything but wrong?

He can’t imagine it, but he sighs and pushes the thought back – _‘People do it all the time… you’re a different person than you used to be already…’_

Here’s hoping…

Over the coming weeks Oliver does notice that Elio is still holding his hand all the time when they’re out – and especially when he signals that he really doesn’t want to – but the change is less dramatic than he would have thought.

Elio does find several opportunities to use the G word though, slipping it into everyday conversations like a tiny bomb.

“Oh, he’s gay too – did you know?”

“I wonder how the other gay kid at your school that you mentioned is doing now…”

“Are we considered a gay couple, do you think? Even though I’m bi?”

He doesn’t love it at first, but he’s admittedly a little more comfortable with it after a few weeks, if only through exposure.

Maybe not enough to say it himself, but enough to stop flinching when Elio says it in the privacy of their – _his_ – apartment.

Elio gets him to watch a documentary about the modern history of gay culture at one point early on, but turns it off when he realises that, judging by his reaction, Oliver really doesn’t need information about how drag developed or how terms came about in the community or the backlash the movement has faced.

The last thing he needs is a reinforcement of the picture of all gay people his father put in his head, and the worst ways society has reacted to that picture.

It’s obvious that Oliver is feeling… something, about their conscious efforts to help him feel differently, and Elio isn’t so sure it’s good a lot of the time.

He surprises him by leaving a record player he ‘already had’ in his apartment one day, along with a number of vinyls of albums he’s sent him songs from, in hopes that it will make him feel a little happier even just for a night.

After a day of listening to his co-workers’ typical casual bigotry and wrestling more with his conflicted feelings than usual since the night he cried to Elio, he’s honestly just looking forward to eating some of the groceries Elio has insisted on having delivered and being horizontal.

He’s confused at first when he sees the player, and grateful after the happy phone call with Elio about it – he even entertains the idea that Elio may have owned it already, though the money spent on the records alone is enough to make him feel bad.

He’s had to deal with Elio spending so much money on him lately though, with his sudden obsession with them both eating nutritious meals, that he’s learned to swallow it down a little better.

He selects ‘Transformer’ by Loud Reed and enjoys how calm and nonchalant his voice is, lying on his couch with a glass of the week’s delivered wine and a few of Sadie’s candles flickering.

It’s not until he gets to ‘Walk on the Wild Side’ and hears the line, _‘Plucked her eyebrows on the way – shaved her legs and then he was a she,’_ that he realises that this song has more to it than he remembers.

He finds he likes it more, now.

After the previous song’s foot-tapping rock sound it’s so quiet, peaceful, deadpan… so far away from everything bright and enthusiastic and stereotypical his upbringing put in his head about men who didn’t fit his parents’ mould.

Was Lou Reed perhaps not entirely straight?

The singing is so soothing to him that Oliver loses himself for a moment in the low light of his small apartment, and lets his thoughts wander.

Maybe it’s the lighting or the wine or maybe he’s just tired, but in a moment of strange freedom he wonders whether his father always hated him so much because he himself was like ‘little Joe’ who _‘never once gave it away’…_

Maybe that’s why he lashed out like he always did.

 _What was his father like to him?_ Oliver wonders, as he remembers his stern grandfather. _Maybe he was just better at covering it up than me…_

He entertains the thought but in the moment it feels like it doesn’t really matter… he can’t go back, he can’t ask his father, and he wouldn’t want to talk to him if he could.

Something in his chest relaxes a little at the realisation. 

Maybe he would have wanted to talk to him a few months ago, wanted to ask him all the questions in his head, but… he doesn’t want anything from his father anymore.

He didn’t choose to run away and be himself, but the ability to be himself was thrust upon him nonetheless. And maybe it’s finally been enough time that he can just accept that it’s the way it is and take the good with the bad.

Maybe one day – maybe soon – he’ll feel okay using that scary word, himself. 

How much could it matter if he was _gay_ these days, after all, when someone was writing these calm strings to _these_ words, seeing things from so far above, and so far beyond the cruelty, and the _noise_ of the world… almost fifty years ago?

He can achieve that with the world changing and Elio on his side, surely?

He feels like he might laugh, for a second, but he doesn’t want to disturb the calm of the moment, so he just smiles, and breathes.

He feels almost lost in time as the saxophone takes over, wondering how things would have gone if everything had happened to him in the seventies or the eighties instead of now… would he have been taken in by the community he feels so separate from, now? Would he have hidden it better and lived the life he was supposed to? Would he have met someone like Elio in an underground bar, instead of a bookshop?

 _There’s no one like Elio,_ he can’t help but remind himself, finally letting out a chuckle as the record spins into silence, waiting for him to flip it.

He doesn’t get up to change it in the end but instead lies there enjoying the afterglow of the soothing song.

The feeling won’t last forever – it might not help him in the morning – so he wants to enjoy it properly.

He won’t feel so protected from reality forever, but it’s nice for now.

He falls asleep without turning the player off, thinking meandering thoughts around things he’s generally tried to avoid, and enjoying feeling strangely immune to the pain he’s been afraid of.

He wakes up in the morning with a crick in his neck but a strange, lightened feeling in his chest, marvelling at how just one song can create such a feeling of healing.

 _Thank you,_ he texts Elio simply, before applying the sunscreen he insists he wears before going out into the sun for work every day.

 _You like it?_ Elio asks, glad Oliver wasn’t bothered about the money spent on him. 

_More than you know._

Elio sits up on his couch to find Josie wherever she is cleaning his spotless apartment, to tell her about his well-received gift before she leaves.

“Look, I really think you’ll be surprised by how chill most gay clubs are Oliver,” Elio says sitting in the car outside, having _barely_ managed to convince him to come out despite his obvious progress in recent weeks.

 _It’s not like_ I _want to be going into some cesspit bar in the middle of flu season,_ he thinks as he watches Oliver pout slightly, patting his pocket for his hand sanitiser.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Oliver gives, before chewing his cheek. “I just don’t think it’ll help me feel better – if anywhere is going to reinforce what I feel like calling myself ‘gay’ implies, it’s this place.”

Elio feels a thrill of pride when he doesn’t hesitate before the word ‘gay’, but he groans at the rest of his sentence.

“That’s my whole _point,”_ he insists. “You think it’s going to be all campy and flamboyant, but I’m telling you that it’s way more casual than you think in there. There are a lot of gay people in New York, Oliver – there are going to be bars catering to people like you in a city of eight million.”

In the end Oliver chews on his cheek some more and looks out the window reluctantly for a second before undoing his seatbelt.

“Okay,” he sighs. “Let’s go in.”

“Thank you!” Elio cries with as much encouraging enthusiasm as he can muster, though truly he doesn’t really want to leave the car either.

Just for different reasons.

“And thank you, Karl!” he calls to the stand-in driver, filling a shift for Diego while he’s on a date with Sadie. 

Elio frets a little about what he’s going to do about Diego driving them all places when they’re together, especially if it doesn’t work out… but ultimately it’s on the backburner, with helping Oliver and taking care of his own health.

He keeps an eye on Oliver as they enter the place, clocking his reactions.

It’s just so easy to read it all on his face: he goes in anxious as ever he is, and first he’s surprised that it’s lit like a normal bar and not painted pink or rainbow. Then he’s surprised that the first people he sees aren’t drag queens, and then he’s surprised that there are gay and bi _girls_ there.

 _Girls can be gay too Oliver,_ Elio wants to say with a roll of his eyes, but he keeps his amusement to himself.

“This is antisemitic,” he says with a grin, gesturing to the Christmas decorations dotting the place.

It’s enough to get a small laugh out of Oliver at least, as he heads to the bar to loosen himself up more.

Elio had to do a shot with him before leaving to convince him to go, which was already more than he was planning on drinking all night. So as Oliver heads to the bar he instead finds them a place to sit, as far away from the bigger crowds as possible.

He doesn’t love that Oliver feels like he needs to drink more to be comfortable here – or around strangers in general, really – but after a moment sitting by himself his thoughts are occupied more by his own anxiety at what that small amount of alcohol is doing in his body right now.

He _knows_ it’s irrational, but he’s still sitting there thinking about how alcohol is a poison and it’s in his body in a relatively concentrated form right now.

 _It can ruin your liver and your kidneys and your brain function and heighten your chances of getting so many diseases and even if it doesn’t do any of those things in one night it plays with your_ heart _and suppresses your immune system and mine is already_ medically suppressed _and it’s flu season and—_

“Aren’t you going to tell me about how you were right and I was wrong?”

Elio starts at the voice on his left, jumping at Oliver’s unexpected proximity.

“What?” he asks with a jolt, obviously blinking out of his thought spiral.

“It’s ‘chill’,” Oliver says, raising his eyebrows and looking around. “Maybe some more obviously not-straight people, but just a bar,” he elaborates.

“Just a bar with some boys kissing,” Elio laughs unsteadily as Oliver sits down with his beer, tilting his head.

“You okay?” he asks, taking a sip.

“Yeah I’m fine,” Elio insists instantly, shaking his head. “Just thinking.”

“What happened to your old not-thinking-too-much policy?” Oliver laughs, his eyes wet with drink.

“You,” Elio says jokingly with a raised brow, though truthfully he has noticed that he can’t keep himself away from negative thoughts as easily as he used to.

He’s been in control of his world before, and he can do it again… he’ll just have to try harder. 

He’s not sure he can keep his brain in check tonight though, with the strange stickiness of the table he’s afraid to touch and his doubts about the cleanliness of the glass Oliver is drinking out of, which could transfer anything to him when he kisses him later—

“We should see if we can make some friends tonight,” Elio says brightly, trying to distract himself, and distract his boyfriend from where he’s surreptitiously sanitising his hands under the table.

“If you want,” Oliver says reluctantly, seeing the movement and guessing what it is from how often he's been doing it lately, but being willing to let it go – a bar _isn’t_ the cleanest place in the world, after all.

The conversation goes back and forth easily for about half an hour before Oliver goes to get another beer and ends up waiting in line at the bar for longer than he thought.

“First time out when you’re _out?”_ he hears from his left, turning quickly to see who spoke.

It’s not who he would have pictured himself around tonight – brown hair, beard, t-shirt, flannel, jeans… he looks much the same as any guy at any of the other bars Oliver has been to.

“Sorry, what?” he asks when he finishes mentally flailing.

“Your first time to a gay club?” the guy clarifies, raising his eyebrows.

“Uh—yeah,” Oliver replies haltingly. “How do you know?”

The guy chuckles forgivingly.

“You’re kind of… avoiding looking around, like I did at first – like you’re scared they’ll yell at you for not being one of them if you look too long.”

Oliver frowns.

“Are you not…?”

It takes him a second to figure out what Oliver meant.

“Oh, no, I’m gay,” the guy laughs after a moment. “Sorry, I’m probably being rude, I’m Adrian,” he says, holding out his hand.

“Oliver,” Oliver says as shakes it, but a part of his brain is just stuck on how easy it was for Adrian to just say, _‘Oh, no, I’m gay’._

There was no sense of secrecy, no shame, no need to explain himself afterwards… it was just a fact. 

“You gonna order?” Adrian asks, and Oliver is pulled from his thoughts. 

“Oh, yeah,” he says suddenly, turning to the bar and ordering a beer for himself and a Coke for Elio.

Even if his boyfriend isn’t _drinking,_ he should still have something to drink. 

“Both for you?” Adrian laughs, gesturing to the drinks in both of Oliver’s hands.

“Oh, no, the Coke is for my boyfriend Elio – he doesn’t really drink, so.”

“Oh, me either!” Adrian exclaims. “I’d love to talk more if you want to – my friend kind of abandoned me,” he laughs sheepishly, gesturing to a redheaded woman obviously talking up another woman.

“Elio was just talking about how he wanted to meet some people tonight, before,” Oliver smiles, surprised by how at ease he feels with this guy, for a stranger.

He gestures over to their table and Adrian says he’ll meet him there when he’s got his mocktail. 

It doesn’t occur to Oliver how strange it should have felt to call Elio his boyfriend in public until he’s walking over, smiling. 

“What are you smiling about?” Elio asks, eyeing the second glass in Oliver’s hand with suspicion. “…You didn’t get two drinks for yourself did you?”

 _It’s not a_ problem, _but he really does drink too much for it to be good for him,_ he thinks, frowning.

“The Coke is for you – _just_ Coke,” Oliver replies, rolling his eyes as he sits. “No, I made a friend at the bar, like you wanted,” he beams.

Elio does his best to smile back.

“That’s awesome,” he says, thinking of ways to avoid drinking the Coke without giving himself away – not only is this glass just as questionable as Oliver’s he also doesn’t want to be drinking soda on top of the shot he had to do.

 _It’s… bad for gut bacteria, or something,_ he thinks. _And there’s all that science going around about how a good gut microbiome is like, the key to a long life, isn’t there? I’ll have to look it up when I get home but I’m pretty sure…_

“His name is Adrian,” Oliver says, not noticing the turmoil. “He seems pretty cool – he doesn’t drink either.”

“He doesn’t?” Elio asks, trying to pull his thoughts together - he hasn't been in a place with this many... hazards, since that night.

“No, he didn’t say why though,” Oliver shrugs, meeting Elio’s eyes over the rim of his beer. “Don’t you want the Coke?” he asks, looking down to the untouched glass.

“Ah, not really,” Elio replies, going for nonchalance. “I guess I’ve kind of gone off it.”

_Is that a thumb print on the rim?_

“You’ve gone off a lot of things lately,” Oliver notes, eyes not leaving Elio’s.

“Yeah, I guess I have,” he laughs uncomfortably. “Tastebuds changing I suppose.”

“Mmm,” Oliver says, eyes narrowing only slightly in suspicion.

He’s aware that he’s been paying less attention to Elio’s strange behaviour lately because of them both working on his own hang-ups, but in that moment his focus is laser and his wariness is coming to the forefront.

Elio is just about to excuse himself to the bathroom, where he will not, under any circumstances be touching a toilet or a door, when he’s saved by Oliver’s new friend distracting them both.

“Hey,” he says, smiling down at them. “Should I sit?”

“Yeah,” Oliver supplies enthusiastically, gesturing to the empty spot in the booth next to his boyfriend. “This is Elio,” he says.

“I figured as much,” Adrian replies kindly, placing his fruity drink down and holding out his hand as he slides into the booth. “Adrian,” he says.

“Nice to meet you,” Elio says with instinctual friendliness as he shakes his hand and smiles.

They exchange the usual initial pleasantries and find out that Adrian is also working construction at the moment – though he’d like to find something that allows him to travel.

He picks Elio’s brain about France and Italy and Oliver enjoys hearing him talk about the villa near Crema, suddenly secretly hoping that the Perlmans will invite him sometime soon…

Eventually it becomes clear though, that Oliver and Adrian have more in common than he and Elio – at least in the time since Oliver lost access to his parents’ wealth – and they carry most of the conversation.

Elio still finds himself able to enjoy watching Oliver interact with someone who isn’t Sadie without shaking, though; it’s nice to see him talking to someone so similar to himself, who is out, and comfortable with it…

He feels like he’s watching something healing, in the moment – watching Oliver’s preconception about what coming out looks like being disrupted, and a reality brought to life. 

He wonders what Oliver’s family would think to see him now; see him beginning to recover from them… and he wonders what his sister would think to see him now. 

He imagines that even a few months ago seeing him again would have broken her heart with how closed off and anxious he still was about so many things.

But now he’s starting to move on. 

_Couldn’t have planned it better,_ Elio muses, keeping his thoughts off of his face as he stifles a smile.

After enough time where he’s barely involved in the conversation, however, his thoughts are bound to wander.

He thinks about how it’s flu season again for a _second_ and then suddenly it feels like something has wrapped around his brain and begun applying pressure.

The table is sticky, they can’t be cleaning it very well… how many people have sat here and coughed and sneezed all over it, even just today? Has Adrian been breathing on him? He’s so close, and he doesn’t know him; any kind of foreign body could be on him or on his breath and coming towards him… And the glasses aren’t that well cleaned obviously – has he touched his face since he touched the glass? 

He’s _compromised,_ anything could be something that takes him down, any little chance could be the one he shouldn’t have taken. How do people just not _think_ about all of this?

Before he knows it his breathing is getting shallower and the tips of his fingers starting to tingle – he needs to deal with this somewhere more private.

“Hey,” he says, turning to his left with a tight smile. “Sorry, I really need to pee.”

He hopes the slight trembling in his hands and voice are covered up by the low lighting and the loud music.

“Sure,” Adrian says, standing to let him out.

He hasn’t been drinking so he does pick up on Elio’s tone, but figures he’s probably best off just letting him deal with whatever is happening himself – he doesn’t know him well enough to say something.

“Come back soon,” Oliver says with a smile, obviously not seeing his quiet distress from across the wide table – for which Elio is nothing but thankful.

He smiles back as best he’s able and rushes—

Just, away. 

He’s walking but he’s not sure where.

He can’t go to the cesspool bathrooms, he can’t go to the smoker’s area and breathe in the carcinogens, and he can’t just stand in a corner breathing in other people’s sweat and germs and alcohol breath – he’s already got more of the poison in him than he should tonight.

In the end he just walks behind a wall in the direction of the bathrooms and sneaks out a back way, running past the trash so he doesn’t breathe in its feral fumes and rushing to a bench on the street where he can breathe.

He sanitises his hands as he tries to catch his breath, and then lays his winter coat out on the bench to sit on. 

“Fuck,” he lets out, talking to himself through his breathing. “I can’t do this,” he whispers repeatedly, like a mantra.

He doesn’t know what he can’t do. He just needs to be saying something, doing _something_ to feel like he’s not losing control completely; to feel like he’s still in control of his hands and his lips, though he can’t feel them again.

 _It’s happening again,_ he thinks. _I thought that if I controlled everything like I used to I could not panic again – why is it happening again?_

He knows he’s panicking and that’s why he feels wrong physically, but a cruel part of his mind asks him if it’s some kind of suddenly developed reaction to the alcohol from earlier. Or were there some spores in the air from mould in the alley he walked through, and they’re doing something terrible to his lungs somehow?

 _No, no, no,_ he moans in his mind as he fights back at the thought. _No, it started before the alley, and it’s been too long since the shot…_

He can’t help but feel like the whole world is trying to attack him, in the moment. How can he keep Oliver from asking questions for the rest of their relationship when he feels like this just from going to a bar? 

_Oliver and Sadie go to bars so often…_

“Fuck,” he hisses again, though this time he can’t stop tears from soaking the word.

How did he ever feel okay in places like this before?

All he can think is that he really just needs to go home, and touch and kiss Oliver as little as possible until they’ve both showered and thrown their clothes in the washing machine, and then make sure he gets enough sleep and talk to his doctor about supplements to make sure that his immune system is prepared for any future nights like this – not that he’s planning on doing this again any time soon…

It’s only when he’s begun writing a list in his head – call Karl for pick-up, wash clothes, have a good shower, make doctor’s appointment, brush teeth, put on warm pyjamas – that he begin to feel like he has control again. Even if he’s fucked up tonight somehow, at least he has control over these actions. 

He can do this.

After a few more minutes running through his list he finds that he can feel his lips and his hands properly again, and wipes away the remaining tears.

_It’s going away; it’s not a reaction, it’s obviously not a toxin…_

He knows the thought was ridiculous but it didn’t make a difference in the moment, did it?

He stands after calling Karl, taking another few grounding breaths and forcing his legs to carry him back towards the entrance though they still feel tight and vaguely numb. 

He leaves his jacket behind – it was dry-clean-only anyway so he couldn’t wash it when he got home, and he’s not leaving it in his home after being on a bench who knows how many sick people have sat on today.

He tunes the music out as he strides up to their table, trying to seem as okay as possible, like nothing happened.

“Hey,” he says with a smile that feels like rubber on his face. “…I’m kind of ready to go.”

He says it in a practiced tone, falling back on old habits as he tries to keep… just— everything, contained.

“Oh,” Oliver says with raised brows, surprised – they’ve only been there for an hour or two, but they left Elio’s apartment pretty late, he supposes.

They had obviously been deep in conversation, but Elio doesn’t budge, just biting his lower lip and bouncing on the balls of his feet a little as he nods.

“Okay,” Oliver says after a moment, nodding and finishing the last of his drink. “It was really nice to meet you,” he says genuinely to Adrian as he stands. 

“I’ll find you on Facebook?” the brunette asks. 

“Oh… no I don’t have one anymore,” Oliver admits, blushing before rattling off his number as the other man types it into his phone.

“Okay, awesome,” Adrian smiles. “It was really nice to meet you too, Elio,” he tacks on with a concerned look that tells him he’s doing a bad job covering, and that Oliver just doesn’t see it because of the alcohol he’s consumed.

“Yeah, you too,” Elio smiles as best he can.

Truthfully he’s starting to just be exhausted now.

“See you later,” Oliver calls as Elio starts towards the door, to which Adrian simply smiles and waves, standing to find more company.

“I really liked him,” Oliver says with strange tone in his voice, as though he’s lost in thought.

“Not too much I hope,” Elio replies with a half-hearted huff of laughter.

Oliver leaves his head at that, rolling his eyes and pulling Elio to his side, kissing the top of his head. 

“Not like that,” he assures with a smile, before he seems to disappear into his thoughts again.

Elio is happy to leave him thinking, just trying his best not to think about the dirty glass Oliver was drinking out of.

They don’t talk much on the ride home or on the way up the elevator, and eventually Elio starts to wonder what Oliver is so fixated on through his own looping thoughts.

He decides he’ll ask once they’ve both showered, not wanting to get into a situation where it would be appropriate for him to hug or kiss him before the bar is washed away.

“You wanna shower after me or go first?” he asks as the elevator doors open. 

“Oh, I’ll probably shower in the morning,” Oliver replies distractedly.

Elio stops in his tracks, catches his eye.

“What?” his boyfriend asks when he realises the silence has gone on too long.

Elio goes for endearing as he pouts and gives a wide-eyed stare.

“I want to cuddle you, and you smell like bar,” he says with intentionally overdone innocence.

Oliver is puzzled and sniffs his shirt, making a face.

“I don’t smell anything, but okay,” he shrugs, unbothered and slightly amused. “I suppose I can make this sacrifice for love.”

When Oliver goes in for a kiss Elio jumps on his excuse and backs away.

“No, no, no,” he says, pasting on a laughing smile. “Not until you don’t smell like beer and secondhand smoke.”

Elio doesn’t relax until they’ve taken their clothes off and he’s thrown them in his mostly-unused washing machine. Usually he just sends his clothes off for someone else to do it – god knows he’s got enough clothes not to miss them while they’re gone…

Once they’ve both brushed their teeth and are standing under the spray soaping up, he breathes a sigh of relief at not having given himself away entirely.

“Mm,” Oliver hums contentedly as Elio massages conditioner into his hair, having done his own already. “Thank you…”

Elio smiles, just glad to feel comfortable in Oliver’s space again. 

“Anytime,” he murmurs with amusement.

Oliver just hums again, still quiet and thoughtful, as he has been since they left the bar.

“Elio?” he says, looking down at his boyfriend after they’ve both rinsed their hair. 

“Yes?”

“…I’m gay.”

Elio can’t keep from opening his mouth slightly.

“What?” he asks with a hopeful tone, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“I’m gay,” Oliver asserts, more confidence in his face though it still looks like he’s feeling out how the word feels in his mouth.

 _That was quick,_ Elio thinks in the silence following. 

“You are,” is what comes out of his mouth, surprised but encouraging as a smile forms on his lips.

Oliver thinks for a moment before he feels a smile coming to his own lips.

 _I’m gay,_ he thinks to himself, surprised at the lightness in his chest when he thinks the words. He feels like he’s caught a ray of sunshine in his sternum. _Or maybe I’m just drunk,_ he thinks with a small huff of laughter.

“Why… what changed?” Elio breathes with a hint of wonder.

“Talking to Adrian,” Oliver shrugs, his smile fading slowly as he speaks. “Seeing how he’s like me in so many ways – hearing how he’s not out at work because he doesn’t want to deal with the bullshit – and hearing him say that he was gay with confidence – or… not confidence, but… it didn’t _mean_ anything to him, to say it.”

Oliver shakes his head, frowning as his throat tightens. 

“It didn’t mean anything to me _about_ him when he said it,” he says. “I’ve been hearing those words in my head in a certain way for so long, that felt like it didn’t match up with who I am… and now suddenly I can hear them in a voice that sounds like _mine.”_

It hasn’t fully hit Elio how sheltered from outside influence Oliver’s upbringing was until this moment – hearing someone straight-passing say ‘I’m gay’ was all it took for him to feel like he could say these words, even for a moment?

Of course this isn’t the end; there’s so much shame, and fear to mitigate, and so much work to be done to help Oliver see himself as simply _good enough_ rather than good enough to make up for being wrong somehow…

But it’s such a big step forward that Elio can’t help but smile and laugh, placing his hands up on his shoulders.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says genuinely.

“Me too,” Oliver says, looking down. “I don’t know if I’ll still feel like this about it in the morning though – it feels too sudden,” he admits, like it’s occurring to him as he speaks. 

“You might not,” Elio acknowledges, nodding. “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t mean anything though – it’s still a step forward. And you’ve still got a new way of hearing the words in your head now.”

Oliver considers for a moment before nodding, a tentative smile tugging at his lips once more as Elio pulls him in to hold him.

“Thank you for making me go out – for pushing me forward,” he murmurs as his arms wrap around him.

“You did the same for me,” Elio replies, though his thoughts drift back to his panic earlier – it makes the words ring false in his head. 

He _did_ move ‘forward’ with Oliver insisting on it, until recently… but not anymore.

It’s not really moving forward to risk his health though, he argues internally. Maybe it would be moving forward for someone else, but he wasn’t treating himself differently to others for no reason.

He sighs. 

He feels suddenly uncertain about their future, if he keeps feeling like he did tonight…

But he’s too tired to think about it. He’s already ready to go to bed, just from his earlier panic.

He should be thinking about how proud he is of Oliver right now anyway.

Oliver is still sleeping in the morning when Elio leaves the bed.

He scrolls through his social media for a while before his mind drifts to last night.

Before he can think too hard about his unexpected panic attack at the end he shifts his thoughts to Oliver’s better result.

 _It was so nice to see him interact with someone like himself – to see him see that his assumptions about what people will assume about him if he’s honest are wrong,_ he thinks. _His sister could have told him that years ago though, if he’d been honest with her…_

He stills as a thought occurs to him:

 _Has she tried to see him?_ he wonders. _He said she didn’t care as much what her parents said; maybe she’s tried to contact him?_

Biting his lip, Elio searches the name April Lachman, looking over his shoulder as he presses enter.

Several useless links for strangers’ social media come up, but eventually a Facebook link he clicks on reveals the face he sees on the wall in Oliver’s room every time he’s there.

But it’s set to private.

Damn.

Chewing on his tongue for a moment Elio considers. 

He blows out a breath and decides, _fuck it,_ as he sends a request.

 _Shit,_ he thinks, and stands to fidget, unable to sit still as he waits. 

He putters around trying to find things to clean and correct in his impeccably clean apartment until he hears a noise from his laptop and rushes over to find that his request has been… accepted. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. 

_What do I do now?_

He looks behind him again to make sure Oliver still isn’t up and begins scrolling through her page. 

It’s more or less what he expected – some pop culture, much more politics, some exchanges with friends…

And then he comes to a post made a few weeks ago, on Oliver’s birthday.

 _‘Miss you big brother… happy birthday’_ is all the picture is captioned – a picture of Oliver and his sister laughing together, apparently playing with filters on an app to give themselves animal ears a few years ago.

They look so much alike…

Elio smiles at the picture, because it’s not all that often he gets to see such a… well, silly, side of Oliver.

With the caption though, it makes it look like he’s died. 

Elio’s happy expression falters as his throat constricts unexpectedly at the thought – for all intents and purposes, he _is_ dead to his sister as things stand. She can’t see him, can’t talk to him, can’t make funny faces with him while taking a stupid selfie.

Clearing his throat, Elio shakes his head clear and begins scrolling through April’s pictures. It’s not useful to think that way.

Eventually he comes to a picture of what seems to be Oliver’s whole family – his mother, his father, his sister and his brother, all standing stiffly in suits and dresses for what seems like a graduation.

Oliver isn’t truly smiling in this picture, his eyes tense and the corners of his mouth barely lifted in a pale imitation of pleasantness.

His mother smiles in a watered down sort of way, but his father just looks… stern, and disapproving, even at his son’s near-straight-A graduation.

Elio is surprised to see how much smaller Oliver’s father is than him and his brother; to have such a titanic shadow over his son’s life even now… How cold and domineering must he have been, to have his son not hit him back when he so clearly could have physically overpowered him as he was throwing him out?

It doesn’t even occur to Elio that Oliver might have let his father hit him without response because if he had retaliated his father’s lawyers very likely would have descended.

Elio sighs and closes his laptop, deeming it late enough in the morning to get Oliver up for breakfast – he really does sleep in late so often; he _needs_ to eat more vegetables so he can have more energy…

Once he’s ordered similarly nutritious breakfasts for both of them and stood up to get Oliver, his phone buzzes.

His eyes widen when he sees it’s a message from April Lachman.

 _‘Hey’,_ she says.

He swallows. 

Should he reply? If he doesn’t she might unfriend him and he’ll have lost his chance to have access to this part of Oliver’s life. 

He doesn’t want to complicate things for Oliver when he’s obviously going to be going through it for a while, but…

 _‘Hey yourself’,_ he replies, going for casual – there’s no guarantee she knows his relationship to her brother.

Quickly it becomes apparent that she does, however.

_‘You’re Oliver’s boyfriend, aren’t you?’_

A thrill of excitement runs through Elio as he realises he can be honest with someone from Oliver’s other life.

 _‘How did you know?’_ he asks, genuinely curious.

_‘Chastity told me.’_

Elio vaguely remembers a friend of a friend by that name talking to Oliver at his party and mentally shrugs.

Before he can think of a reply though, his phone starts buzzing in his hand – a call from April Lachman through the app.

His eyes widen comically as he looks around him as though for help, but there’s no one there.

He panics and answers, bringing the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he says, only slightly strangled. 

_“Elio?”_ she asks, pronouncing it _‘ee-leo’._

“Elio,” he corrects automatically, shellshocked. 

_“Oh, sorry. Elio.”_

“That’s okay, um…” He swallows. “Hi?”

 _“Hi,”_ she says, clearly as surprised to find herself on the call as he is. _“Uh… is Oliver there?”_

“He—he’s asleep,” Elio stutters, turning as the handle to his room twists and the door swings open.

_Shit._

_“So he_ is _there?”_

“Uh, sorry I’ve got to go,” Elio says, freaking out.

“Who is it?” Oliver asks, voice sleep-hoarse.

_“Is that Oliver?”_

“It’s no one,” Elio says, both to Oliver and his sister. 

_“Let me talk to him!”_

“Sorry, I really have to go,” Elio says quickly, ending the call and turning to face Oliver properly. “Sorry,” he says, sightly breathlessly – obviously caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

“What was that?” Oliver asks, wary.

“It… was a surprise, I can’t tell you what it was,” Elio says, thinking quickly – he’ll need to arrange something now, dammit.

“Please no more money spending,” Oliver groans as he walks over. “I know the record player was new, Elio.”

“Sorry,” he replies, sheepish. “It won’t be too expensive this time, I promise.”

“You’d better mean it,” Oliver sighs contentedly, kissing his boyfriend good morning and walking over to where the elevator doors are suddenly dinging, signalling their food arriving.

Elio breathes a small sigh of relief as his boyfriend turns his back, but overall he still just feels… out of control.

_Fuck me._

He groans internally, hating feeling this way. He’s spent so much of his life trying to find ways to occupy himself, but he’s always felt in control until recently…

 _I’ll just have to try harder,_ he thinks again, echoing his thoughts last night. 

_I just need to choke down some breakfast and see Oliver off to work and come up with a surprise and message April and research that microbiome stuff from last night and…_

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it wasn't truly trash, but please let me know what you thought either here or on tumblr where I'm still [jeffersonhairpin](https://jeffersonhairpin.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Kind words go a long way in this economy ❤️❤️


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few weeks later Oliver knows something is wrong, and addresses it the night Elio comes over to tell him what his surprise is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this chapter lol 😂 
> 
> I hope you like it more than I do, but I'm hoping to finish this by the end of the year so I needed to get the problem addressed and get the boys to the villa and my brain still feels like soft cheese so this is what came out

Oliver knows something is up.

Before, he acknowledged that Elio was acting weird but brushed it off while he was really pushing the first stages of getting more comfortable with himself. What’s been happening lately though, is not normal, and not okay.

He’s pretty sure he can trace the worst of it back to a couple of health and science documentaries he and Elio watched a few weeks ago… if only he had known to turn off the tv.

“Elio?” he calls, expecting to find him in the apartment.

“Yeah?” he calls from the bathroom, sending a rock to the bottom of Oliver’ stomach.

“…Please tell me you’re not cleaning the bathroom again,” he sighs, a sinking in his voice.

“I’m not,” Elio defends. “I’m just finishing putting some laundry away – your towel cupboard had a moth in it,” he explains, coming out drying his hands on a paper towel.

Oliver has noticed that he doesn’t use hand towels anymore, and that his hands are often dry from how much he washes and sanitises them these days…

He should have said something earlier.

“You really shouldn’t keep them in a closed cupboard anyway,” Elio says, with a smile that says ‘innocence’ and eyes that say ‘please don’t say anything’.

Oliver isn’t planning on being so accommodating tonight.

He sighs, placing his bag on the couch – it doesn’t escape his notice the way Elio’s eyes follow its path to the seat like he’s noting what to fix next.

Is he really so worried about every little thing? 

God, Oliver hates that soft-surface spray… the ‘fresh pine’ scent is on everything these days.

“Elio…” he trails off.

“…What?” Elio asks in a small voice as he looks away at his tone.

He knows he’s reaching the last straw of plausible deniability.

Oliver sighs again, not knowing what to say.

“You’re not just on a health kick after that night,” he settles on, gesturing helplessly. “First Josie, then the hand washing and the sanitiser, and now…”

Oliver sighs, meeting his gaze and holding it.

“Don’t you think I’ve noticed how you don’t even want to _touch_ me until I’ve showered and changed?” he asks, eyes imploring. “Or how you always pick around food I make for you, or how we haven’t spent time together anywhere other than our apartments in weeks?”

Elio frowns softly as he looks down and murmurs his excuse.

“It’s just flu season Oliver, I’m just—”

“It’s more than that,” Oliver interrupts, his brow set. “It didn’t used to be like this. You’re pulling back because you’re afraid and you don’t want to talk to anyone about it, just like last time,” he asserts.

 _You’re disappearing,_ he leaves off.

He doesn’t just mean it metaphorically either – Elio’s exercise regimen with the new treadmill in his house combined with his avoidance of all ‘unhealthy’ foods has robbed him of any softness he once had. 

And he didn’t have much to spare in the first place.

Elio has a fraught, focused look on his face for a long time – Oliver thinks he might be trying to get out of talking about it for a moment, before he takes a breath.

Oliver tilts his head.

“If I talk to you about it, will that be enough?” Elio asks into the quiet of the apartment, wringing his dry hands. 

“…Yes, for now,” Oliver nods, stepping forward.

Elio makes a small distressed noise and lets out a breath through his nose, his hands still fiddling.

He doesn’t want to tell Oliver because he knows what _‘for now’_ means, but more than anything in the moment… he’s surprised by how much he just wants to tell _someone_ about how scared he’s been now that the moment has come, after trying to train himself back out of the new instinct.

More than that… he wants to tell _Oliver._

It’s been weeks of constant fear and vigilance – even when he doesn’t leave his apartment. He’s scared to hold his own cat because he knows she could make him sick. 

And yes… he _has_ been afraid of what Oliver could bring in with him when he comes over. It’s not like his co-workers would be overly concerned about covering their mouths or noses if they were sick, or like his boss would tell them to go home for fear of spreading it…

Maybe he can tell Oliver, in a way that makes him realise that he’s acting this way for a _reason?_

Oliver is a rational person, surely he can just explain himself and he’ll understand?

_God I hope so…_

“…Okay,” he finally says. “It’s not just a… a health kick, or whatever,” he admits lowly before raising his eyes and his voice. “But you _can’t_ understand how terrifying it is to be immunocompromised,” he insists.

“I know that,” Oliver says, moving forward again.

Elio moves back – he’s still covered in whatever his work has put on him, so if Oliver wants honesty he can have it.

“Okay, you want the truth,” he says quickly, some strength back in his voice.

Oliver nods, though the hurt at seeing Elio back away from him doesn’t leave his expression.

“All of it,” he says, and Elio nods.

“Okay,” he says. “The truth is that you’re out all day surrounded by people who could be sick, and it’s the worst time of year for that. And even if _you_ don’t get sick from them you could bring it in on your clothes, and I could get sick. And it’s a lot more likely that it will happen to me than to you, and if I get sick it’s not like when you get sick. And yes, that’s all I can think about when you come in until you’ve showered and changed and you’re probably not a risk to me.”

There’s honesty in Elio’s eyes, and a plea for understanding. 

But Oliver still frowns – he understands the concept, but… it just can’t be that bad, or surely all transplant patients would never leave the house.

“It’s not like you’re playing Russian roulette, Elio,” he presses softly, stepping forward again.

“That is _exactly_ what it is!” Elio bites back, frustrated as he turns and walks away to the kitchen. “My body can’t fight back as hard when I get sick, and it takes me longer to recover,” he states, before continuing darkly. “…If I do recover,” he mutters.

Oliver sighs at that; not heartlessly, but not with heartfelt compassion either.

“Elio you’re not going to _die_ from a cold I bring in on my _jacket,_ that’s crazy.”

“It’s _not crazy,”_ Elio states with a hard look in his eyes that Oliver isn’t sure he’s seen before. “It fucking happens, do not tell me that I’m crazy.”

“Okay,” Oliver says, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender and backing away again, slightly.

He doesn’t want this to be an argument, he reminds himself – he just wants to help, and it’s not helpful to expect to change Elio’s mind tonight… tonight he can just aim to understand.

“Okay, it’s not completely unfounded,” he gives, hoping to soften things. “…But regardless of why… you’re obviously not okay,” he says, approaching again. 

Elio makes a small noise of frustration as Oliver comes over and reaches for his hand. He pulls it back, ignoring the look of hurt on his face and walking away again.

“God, don’t you _get it?”_ he asks. “I can’t talk to you like this!” he yells in a high, raised voice, fighting the urge to wash his hands again as he swallows compulsively. 

It’s not _crazy_ to not want to talk to Oliver until he’s washed the outside away, with his condition, at this time of year. 

It’s just… more cautious than most.

Oliver sighs in quiet despair, realising that it’s worse than he thought.

“If I shower and change into some fresh clothes, will you talk to me?” he asks quietly in a defeated voice.

“Yes,” Elio says, with the tone of a teenager being forced to admit they were wrong. 

Oliver simply nods and heads to the bathroom.

He showers quickly but thoroughly as he calms down and reaffirms that all he’s trying to do is understand so he can help – there’s no point getting angry.

He feel ready to swallow his frustration and put Elio first as he dries himself off with one of the freshly washed towels, but he quickly realises that he neglected to bring any clothes in with him.

When he opens the door he’s met with Elio holding freshly folded pyjamas out for him, a pleading look in his eyes.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” he says, and Oliver softens. 

It doesn’t escape him that Elio has also changed into pyjamas, visually announcing his determination not to run away for the night.

“I’m not mad at you,” Oliver says as he takes the clothes, wishing he’d made that clear from the beginning.

He knows it’s not Elio’s fault that he feels like this. He’s only frustrated that he sometimes makes helping him so hard.

And maybe a little angry at himself for letting this slide for so long.

“…Okay,” Elio says, half-believing, half not, as he turns and walks to sit on the couch.

He’s struggling internally with needing to tell Oliver that he doesn’t see anything changing and needing to keep him happy so it’s less of a mess when he eventually finds out that he’s been talking to his sister.

He’s tried not to give too much away or say anything that would allow her to contact him, but he knows Oliver isn’t going to see that at first and…

He feels like he’s constantly walking a tightrope between keeping control of everything and losing control entirely. But he can't talk about that tonight.

Oliver sighs quietly at Elio’s stifled melancholy and gets into the clothes, hanging up his towel and joining him.

They sit in silence for a few moments before Elio lets out a breath and leans against Oliver’s side until he takes him in his arms. They don’t speak until they’re both lying on the couch, Elio enjoying being held and feeling _not-unsafe_ in it, with Oliver smelling of soap with his skin still soft from the shower.

Eventually Oliver smells that despised ‘pine fresh’ surface spray again and looks down at Elio’s dry hands, sighing and breaking the silence.

“Has it ever been like this before?” he asks, to start.

His tone is inquiring; not accusative. He needs to communicate that he just wants more information. 

“No,” Elio says quietly. “I’ve always been kind of…” he trails off and shrugs. “You know, _conscious,_ of things since everything happened. But not like this.”

It’s clear in his voice that the waiting for the shower and the feeling of safety in Oliver’s presence have melted his will to pretend it’s normal, at least for now.

“…It hasn’t given me panic attacks before,” he mumbles when Oliver doesn’t say anything immediately.

Oliver’s eyes widen a little bit at that, as his heart breaks.

“You’ve been having panic attacks?” he asks, angry with himself for not seeing any signs.

“Not _‘been having’,”_ Elio corrects, shaking his head. “Just two.”

 _Two is still too many,_ Oliver thinks.

“When?” he asks, level.

“Well,” Elio says quietly. “Once when we went to that club. And once the other day after you woke me up from my nap by kissing me, before you'd showered or gotten changed after work.”

A shard of guilt passes through Oliver’s chest at that – at the thought that he caused Elio such distress without even realising, and so recently too.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know,” he says, continuing before Elio can reply. “What made you panic at the club?” he asks in a low voice, struggling to remember something being wrong. 

To him it’s almost the last time things felt kind of _right._

“I don’t know, it was…” Elio trails off, thinking. “It was a lot of things,” he shrugs, still not looking up at his boyfriend.

“I’ve got time,” Oliver nudges gently, shifting to catch his gaze.

Elio frowns and purses his lips, but speaks eventually.

“It was…” 

He sighs. 

“Anyone around us could have been sick, and you made me do a shot before we left which made me even more susceptible than I already was. The tables were sticky so I knew they hadn’t been cleaned well, your glass didn’t look very clean, there was smoke coming in from the smoker’s area, I thought I saw a thumbprint on the rim of the glass you brought over for me and I didn’t want to be drinking Coke anyway, Adrian was sitting close to me and I didn’t know what he might have to pass on…”

As Elio goes over his list Oliver’s brows draw together, trying to imagine seeing so many enemies everywhere he went…

He made him do that shot, tried to get him to drink that Coke…

…And he had no idea, beyond seeing that Elio was sanitising his hands under the table.

“Was it at the club or when we got home?” he asks sounding calmer than he feels, and Elio is surprised.

Either he did a better job of hiding it at the club than he thought or Oliver was drunker than he thought.

“At the club,” Elio confirms, running a finger up and down his surgical scar at the memory. “I said I was going to the bathrooms but I couldn’t go there obviously so I ran outside and… you know, caught my breath. On a bench.”

“And you left your jacket on the bench and washed our clothes when we got home so you could feel safe,” Oliver completes, nodding with unspoken anger with himself and piecing together why one of Elio’s favourite jackets has gone missing.

Elio nods, and it goes quiet for a time as Oliver berates himself despite his decision to put Elio’s feelings first.

“It’s not a big deal,” Elio says with a shrug, breaking the silence. “It’s just the way it is right now. I just need to… not go to clubs or anything, and be careful, and I’m sure by summer it’ll be okay,” he says with a watered down smile.

It’s clear he doesn’t believe it himself.

“No it won’t,” Oliver says, with dread and certainty. “If it’s this bad…. It’s not going to get better in the summer if you spend all winter getting used to it being this way.”

Elio bites his lip – truthfully he has no idea how he’s ever going to feel any different now that he’s seeing all the dangers around him so clearly. 

There’s a part of him that understands that he lived just fine without these precautions for years, but there’s another, stronger part that just won’t let him take any chances without feeling like there’s something wrapping around his brain and his ribs and squeezing. 

Oliver sighs, rubbing his eyes.

“When was the last time you left your apartment other than to come here?”

Elio doesn’t answer, and that’s answer enough for Oliver.

After a moment of silence something occurs to him.

“…Have you even been to work in the last month?” he asks, lifting his head in realisation.

“No…” Elio says slowly, feeling what he’s been afraid of coming.

“What have you been telling them?” Oliver asks, confused.

Elio sighs and slumps out of his arms to sit up, knowing that the truth will make things worse but not having a convincing lie to tell.

“I don’t work at the store anymore,” he admits, lifting his eyes only for a second to see Oliver’s expression shift to a frown.

“Why not?” he asks. 

“I quit,” Elio says with a challenge in his voice, lifting his head.

Both his head and his bravado drop when Oliver doesn’t reply or change his carefully composed expression.

…He knows it’s not good. 

But he _is_ compromised, it’s not for _no reason,_ it’s—

“Elio, this is a problem,” Oliver finally says, gesturing to lend his words gravity.

There's no judgement in his tone, but he's serious.

“You can’t live like this forever. Josie and the hand sanitiser were one thing, but if you’re having panic attacks, and quitting your job, and—”

“It’s fine,” Elio interrupts, sounding almost petulant. 

“It’s _not_ fine,” Oliver asserts, not having it. “If me not being able to say that I’m gay isn’t fine, this is not fine.”

Elio hears the slight remaining hesitance in Oliver’s voice around the word and deflates a little, but his anger comes right back at Oliver’s next words.

“I—I don’t know how to help with this,” he stutters. “If it’s as bad as it seems I really think you should be looking for a doctor, or a therapist, or—”

“I don’t need a fucking therapist, I need a functioning immune system,” Elio almost barks, his voice cracking through the small apartment as his earlier softness disappears. “Why does everyone always go straight to therapy like it fixes everything? It doesn’t always work and it didn’t work for me.”

Oliver’s eyebrows raise slightly at how unexpectedly worked up Elio clearly is about it, but he’s not caught up for long. 

“You lied to your therapist Elio,” he says as calmly as he can. “You told me that you lied. And this isn’t talking about whether you think you’re going somewhere when you die or not, this is… anxiety, hypochondria, I don’t know – this is something they can help you to get better from and _cope_ with.”

“I’m coping fine!” Elio insists despite his earlier admissions.

“Quitting your job and holing up in one of two apartments is not coping, Elio!” Oliver snaps, frustrated.

Silence follows their words again, neither of them looking at each other.

Oliver holds back a sigh of frustration, disappointed that he let himself yell in the end, when he just wanted to understand and help.

“…This isn’t why I said I was coming over,” Elio says quietly, after a time. 

“Why did you tell me you were coming over?” Oliver asks, tired and not having the energy to continue the conversation. 

“I came to tell you about your surprise,” Elio says with tentative anticipation in his voice, hopeful that he won’t have to talk about himself more tonight. 

Oliver lifts his head at that, meeting his gaze again.

“What the surprise?” he asks, wary.

Elio smiles.

“Before you say it, I already checked with your work and they said they don’t need you on the site for the time it’ll take, if you want to take the time off,” Elio says, and he means to put Oliver at ease, but really it just puts him on edge.

 _He asked work? God I hope he didn’t give me away,_ he thinks, feeling adrenaline flood his veins.

“What’s the surprise?” he asks again, his wariness clear in his tone.

“…Do you want to come to the villa with me to have Hanukkah with my parents?” Elio asks, a hopeful smile on his face.

Truthfully he’s proud that his coverup for talking to Oliver’s sister came out so well – he’s actually looking forward to it.

“Huh,” Oliver says, needing a moment to absorb. “…In Italy?” he asks.

“Yes, in Italy,” Elio replies with only slightly forced amusement.

Oliver is getting whiplash, with the sudden shift.

He frowns.

“Uh,” he says dumbly, swallowing. “…Yeah,” he surprises himself by saying slowly.

“Yeah?” Elio repeats, smiling. 

“Yeah, I’ll come to the villa,” Oliver says, sounding only slightly more certain than before.

Elio cheers and squeezes him tight, already running away with the change in direction.

“It’ll be great!” he says. “You can meet Marzia and talk to Mafalda more – she loves you by the way – and you can practice being out, around people who’ve never known you another way… I think that’d be really good for you!”

Elio continues babbling as he orders them dinner and begins choosing a movie, and the whole time Oliver is silent but for a few necessary _‘hm’_ s and _‘yeah’_ s. 

He’s seeing it more clearly than ever that while Elio definitely wants the best for him… a large part of his campaign to help him recently has been to cover up his own problems. It started exactly when Oliver asked him about Josie and Oliver doesn’t know how he feels about it.

What he really hates is that for a while, it _worked._ He was so distracted by the shit that Elio brought up that he didn’t notice how bad this was getting, didn’t notice Elio having panic attacks, or the aftermath…

At first all he noticed was a cooling in Elio and Sadie’s relationship because she never made an effort to work around him when he was clearly uncomfortable with her touching him or smoking near him.

 _God I hate secrets,_ Oliver thinks, despite having had such a big one for most of his life. _The only problems we’ve ever had have been solved by the truth…_

_It doesn’t seem like just honesty can solve this though._

Oliver knows Elio needs more help than he can give him, when he watches him wash his hands for the umpteenth time of the night, when he watches him mentally count out the time as he brushes his teeth and flosses, when he insists on changing the sheets before they sleep despite having changed them only a few days ago because he read about some kind of bed-mite the day before…

So he goes along with it all without complaint. He can’t _enable_ this getting worse, but with how he’s been partially or entirely responsible for all of Elio’s recent panic attacks, he finds himself unwilling to risks triggering him again. At least for now.

He knows it needs to change, but he doesn’t want to pile more on top of Elio’s clear mental exhaustion from constantly looking for new microscopic threats.

Not forever, but he can do it for now.

And so Oliver mostly just lets Elio do what he feels like he needs to do between that night and when they’re scheduled to leave for Italy.

It’s not like Elio doesn’t know how he feels about it.

He’s okay with washing all of their clothes the day before, and spraying their suitcases with that awful surface spray, and eating the rabbit food Elio orders for them when he stays over the night before…

There is one issue though.

“Elio, I can’t pay you back for a first class ticket!” Oliver yells when he finds out about it on the evening of the flight, frustrated.

“You don’t have to pay me back at all!” Elio exclaims, equally frustrated as he goes back to his room to get his second suitcase. 

_Why can’t he just let me pay for things, why does he have such a_ colossal _stick up his ass about ‘big’ money things!_ He knows it’s nothing to me!

“I _do_ have to pay you back,” Oliver insists, following. 

“Fine!” Elio cries, turning. “If you’re so stuck on this idea that I’m going to fucking _sue_ you for the things I choose to give you someday, then you can pay me back for an economy ticket!”

Oliver doesn't address the 'suing' comment.

“I won’t be _sitting_ economy!” he groans already feeling indebted from this trip with Sadie having to feed Princess.

“Oliver,” Elio says in a low voice with a gesture, hating acknowledging this but needing to be done with this conversation if they’re going to be ready by the time the car comes. “We are flying first class because of me. If it weren’t for _me,_ and _my immune system,”_ he says exaggeratedly. “We could fly whatever class you wanted.”

Oliver’s brow doesn’t shift from its frown, but he doesn’t reply other than to let out a breath through his nose.

“I don’t want your money,” Elio says more calmly. “But if you need to give it to me for some reason, just do the economy ticket – we’d be flying _privately_ if I thought my parents would let me.”

Oliver sighs out his anger and repeats to himself the mantra he’s been relying on in these moments. 

_He doesn’t want it to be like this, he just needs some help. He doesn’t want it to be like this, he just needs some help…_

Any residual frustration disappears entirely when they get to the airport and he sees that Elio really, really needs him for comfort right now. 

He puts on a facemask the second they enter the airport and raises his eyebrows when Oliver gives him a look.

“Airports are _full_ of sick people from all around the world, Oliver – people wear masks here more than you would think.”

…And Oliver can’t argue with that, really.

So he doesn’t. 

Instead he just lugs his and Elio’s second suitcase behind him as Elio wraps his free hand around his forearm, until eventually they reach the first class lounge.

It’s pretty fancy, but it just looks like a nice hotel bar to Oliver. 

Elio makes sure both of their hands are sanitised and leans his head on Oliver’s shoulder. When Oliver looks down at him and sees his brows slightly drawn he can’t help but imagine the anxious thoughts racing through his boyfriend’s mind.

_He hasn’t left our apartments in weeks… he must really want to visit the villa to be here._

When they’re finally seated Oliver is surprised – he’s flown first class a few times before, for special occasions, but… this is a lot, even for such an expensive flight. 

The chairs are big enough for two if you curled up, and he suspects this is precisely what Elio was thinking when he booked. 

Oliver can see the anxiety plain on his face as they take off – undoubtably because Elio is aware that take off and landing are the most dangerous parts of any flight. But as soon as they’re in the air and the seatbelt signs turn off he comes over and stares with pleading eyes until Oliver gestures for him to sit with his legs across his lap.

It’s going to be a long flight, and they’ll probably both sleep better this way.

Despite his fear, with Oliver’s calm, steady breathing in his ear Elio finds himself drifting off sooner than expected, wrapped around his boyfriend and wrapped up in the blanket he brought with him because he didn’t trust the ones he knew they’d provide.

Oliver is eager for sleep or at least relaxation himself, but he turns down the various complimentary alcohols the hostess quietly offers – he wants to be fully alert to help Elio calm down if he wakes up and starts to panic. 

He’s failed him three times before when he’s needed his help to calm down, and he doesn’t want to do it again.

In the end Oliver finds himself just kissing Elio gently on the forehead and studying what little of his beautiful face he can see above the mask he’s still wearing while he waits to feel the pull of sleep.

He thinks he’ll probably need all the sleep he can get, for his first proper Hanukkah since everything went to shit.

 _Well, not to shit since Elio,_ Oliver’s mind supplies, and he can’t argue with that despite the ups and downs.

He hopes that maybe returning to people and places he knew before things changed will help Elio feel less anxious about his health – but he’s careful not to expect it.

Truthfully, he doesn’t know what to expect in Italy. 

He should have learned not to try to anticipate anything by now, he thinks, sighing and closing his eyes, and waiting for sleep to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise more April-Elio-talking next chapter ❤️❤️
> 
> Please tell me what you loved, hated, were indifferent about 😊😭 Still jeffersonhairpin on tumblr!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio and Oliver's trip to the villa; the good and the less good...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello I fear I have lost my mojo but hopefully this is readable :'')

Oliver is unsurprised when Elio takes his mask off and puts it away just before entering his parents’ line of sight – if he didn’t want him to know how he was feeling he can’t imagine he’d want his parents to know either.

 _Maybe they’d be able to get through to him though,_ Oliver poses pensively to himself.

But quickly, he decides to just leave it alone; he doesn’t want to go behind Elio’s back when he’s opened up to him even just as much as he has about this. 

The last thing they need is for Elio to stop trusting him.

The Perlmans are as welcoming as ever, dispensing hugs and kisses generously as usual. Oliver is surprised by how readily Elio accepts it all, even from Mafalda when they arrive at the villa – which is as classic and artful as he was expecting.

It’s only when they’ve been sent upstairs to unpack and get settled that he gets a chance to ask about it.

“You already seem less worried here,” he notes, overly casually.

For a moment he wonders if maybe he’s been overreacting and Elio was just taking reasonable precautions for winter in the city for someone with his condition.

“They’ve already been here for a week and it’s a small town,” Elio shrugs as he pulls the sealed plastic bag holding his clothing out of his suitcase. “I know they haven’t seen many people while they’ve been here, and the people they’ve seen probably haven’t seen many people… there’s just less risk of them being infectious.”

Oliver nods as he holds back a disappointed sigh at the reasoning. 

“Shower before unpacking?” he asks, trying to keep his voice light to hide his quiet discontent.

Elio clearly hears the slight strain, smiling apologetically as he comes closer.

“Yes please,” he says softly, taking his hand knowing they’ll both be completely clean soon. “…Thank you for holding me on the plane. It really helped.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Oliver says, giving him a look. “I love you.”

“And I’m thanking you because I love _you,”_ Elio says with a roll of his eyes that’s more genuine than anything Oliver has seen from him in recent memory. 

_At least he’ll get a break here,_ Oliver reassures himself. _Feeling safer is clearly already helping…_

_Maybe this will be good._

When they’re showered and unpacked they head down to see what Mafalda has been cooking, and to Oliver’s surprise when they sit down to eat, it’s even better than the food at her restaurant, having been made by her own hand.

He’s even more surprised that Elio doesn’t pick around it this time, seemingly forgetting himself for a moment as he enjoys what Oliver suspects is comfort food from his childhood here.

And _good,_ he thinks – Elio could use some comfort.

It makes a a glimmer of hope in his chest flicker to life as they curl up around each other to try to keep as warm as possible that night… Maybe being here will break the cycle Elio has been in and prove Oliver’s feelings an overreaction?

He truly hopes so.

In the morning though, Elio is more reluctant to eat the vegetarian, but greasy breakfast Mafalda has made especially for him, cutting it up and pushing it around until he’s eaten just enough to swallow his pills – counted out the now-usual three times. 

His mother frowns and tilts her head at his half-full plate.

“Aren’t you hungry _tesoro?”_ she asks, a look of concern on her face that makes Oliver’s heart ache comparing it to memories of his own mother.

“Not really,” Elio mumbles, putting his fork down. “I’m feeling kind of off, since last night – I think I might be getting sick.”

And at first the lie is so well delivered that Oliver raises his eyebrows, surprised at how unaffected Elio seems about getting sick when he’s been going to such great lengths to avoid it…

But then he realises that this is just Elio’s excuse for avoiding alcohol and greasy food and leaving the house too much while he’s here – it’s a perfect excuse to bundle up in front of the fireplace and eat oatmeal and vegetable soup the whole time.

Oliver hates watching him lie to his parents as they asks him how he feels sick and tut sympathetically – maybe it’s part bitterness, but mostly it’s sadness. 

Oliver doesn’t say much throughout breakfast after the lie; he doesn’t say much after breakfast, or through lunch either, and it doesn’t escape Elio’s notice.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, leaning over while his mother tells a story from her university days as the afternoon sets in.

Oliver nods and gives a tired smile, not wanting to stir anything he doesn’t have to.

“Just didn’t sleep that well last night,” he says.

“Jetlag?” Elio asks, to which he nods again. 

Elio makes a sympathetic noise and leans his head on his shoulder. 

“We’ll go to bed early tonight,” he promises quietly, hoping it will help.

But Oliver’s dejection seems to get worse in the evening, when they light the first candle and say blessings Elio is surprised his boyfriend still remembers considering he hasn’t celebrated since everything happened.

Oliver isn’t surprised at all to still remember – his parents certainly made sure their children had perfect recitations ready to go every year. 

He forgot one part one year when he was younger and… well, it wasn’t pretty.

He _is_ still a little surprised by how heavy the feeling is in his chest by the time it’s done though. He’s not ready to stop believing entirely like Elio, but Hanukkah was never a happy thing in his house growing up and he’s not sure he’s ready for it to start being something nice.

He’s not sure how he feels about organised religion altogether, if he’s honest, and it’s not helped by imagining his family performing these same recitations and lightings without him in New York again this year…

 _Does anyone but April even notice I’m not there, anymore?_ he wonders.

 _Probably not,_ he decides.

Elio side-eyes him the whole evening as his mood goes further south, wondering what’s off but not wanting to ask again.

He knows it’s not just jetlag by the time they go to sleep, but decides he’ll allow him to wallow until he wants to move on.

He decides to venture out to the town with everybody else the next morning, and it makes his chest warm to see the pride on Oliver’s face when he says he’ll go – he’s excited to get out a bit and breathe fresh air, himself…

But when they arrive there are far more people out than he remembers in past, and the air is frigid with snow that falls down the back of his coat and makes him shiver, and people keep recognising them and wanting hugs and cheek kisses… 

By the time they get home Oliver is standing close and rubbing his arms; to keep him warm and to calm his quiet but thrumming anxiety.

Immediately he runs upstairs to stand under the hot spray of the shower until he feels warm and clean, closing the door before Oliver can reach him.

It wounds a little when Oliver returns from another trip into town with Mafalda and his parents the next day laughing and shaking melted snow out of his hair – it’s the happiest he’s seen him since they arrived, and he can’t help but feel left out.

He wishes it were summer, so he could bike out with Oliver to his favourite spot and lie under the trees, just the two of them…

But the winter cold keeps him inside, as well as out of town.

It bothers him, as well, when Oliver and Marzia meet with only two days of Hanukkah left, and she manages to make him laugh more in the first five minutes of their meeting than he has managed all day.

“…How much is he paying you?” she asks, assessing, upon seeing him for the first time.

“Paying me?” Oliver asks, confused. “For what?”

“To pretend to be his boyfriend,” she says like it’s obvious. “How many kilometres down before you can reach his lips? Too far to go for love – it must be money.”

She breaks the act when Oliver huffs a laugh and smiles, introducing himself. Elio grumbles his own hello and accepts her greeting hug with what he hopes is well-veiled hesitation and a compulsive swallow. 

She’s only just arrived and he doesn’t know where she’s been or who she’s touched in Paris… but he’s not about to tell his best friend can’t she hug him after not seeing her for six months. 

Marzia gives him a look like she’s quietly weighing his soul afterwards, but then claps her hands together, rubbing them for warmth and letting out a long frosty breath. 

“Has Mafalda made latkes?” she asks, to which Elio rolls his eyes and leads the way, swinging the front door shut.

“Many – I warned her you were coming,” he drawls, happy to be over the first hurdle and have a reason to wash his hands, even if it means he has to nibble at something fried as an excuse.

Oliver notices himself relaxing and letting things like Elio’s tiny, hesitant bites go with Marzia around, as he discovers he genuinely enjoys her company. It’s perhaps because she’s like Sadie in some ways, he thinks – though decidedly more reserved, and definitely what Sadie would call ‘of better stock’.

It’s honestly just a relief for him not to feel horrendously nervous and awkward around a relative stranger.

It’s not like things have been despondent with Elio and his Hanukkah memories, but he finds himself relaxing enough around her as they discuss her psychology course and his own classics aspirations that he can’t hide his disappointment when she asks them to come out with her to a local club as she’s preparing to leave – there’s absolutely no way Elio will go so he can’t either, really.

However, after several days of seeing Oliver’s dejection, and weeks of limiting him largely to one of their apartments after he finished work, Elio doesn’t want to be the reason he can’t go out on his holiday.

“I’ve been feeling kind of under the weather since we landed,” Elio says, feigning nonchalance. “But you two should go, it’ll probably be fun.”

“He’s sick?” Marzia asks disbelievingly, turning to Oliver to get the truth.

“He’s been saying he feels sick all week,” Oliver sighs, and that much is true.

“Well then,” she says, assessing Elio before turning back to face him. “Do you want to come?”

It’s clear from her tone that she truly _means_ that he doesn’t have to; there’s no pressure at all…

But Oliver finds he truly does want to go despite having only just met her, considering for barely a moment before deciding, “Yeah, that sounds good… It’ll be nice to see where the younger people go in town before we go.”

Elio knows it’s not a jab at him but the words still sting a little. It’s obvious why Oliver hasn’t seen much of Crema beyond the drive from the airport and the local shops.

“Awesome,” is all that he says, however, hiding behind what he hopes is a convincing smile. “Send me pictures of how it looks now?”

“We will,” Marzia promises, standing and putting on her coat and gloves as Oliver bounds up the stairs to get his coat. “…Are you sure you’re alright?” she eventually asks in the silence, studying her oldest friend where he is, wrapped in a blanket and looking somewhat… thin.

“I’m fine,” Elio says, a little too quickly and a little too casual to be convincing. “Just feeling a little rough, and tired.”

“Alright, if you say so…” she accepts, obviously not persuaded by the act but never being one to outright call out her friend. 

They’ve stayed friends for so long largely due to her ability to read between the lines, after all.

“Okay,” Oliver calls, coming down the stairs pulling on his coat. “Are we ready to go?”

 _“Oui,”_ Marzia replies, smiling warmly down at her friend and giving him goodbye kisses on his cheeks before they head towards the front door.

Oliver hangs back just a moment, chewing his bottom lip and tilting his head.

“Are you sure you’re okay with me going without you?” he asks, not wanting to leave without saying something.

As much as he wants to hang out with Marzia, and as much as he thinks it’ll help his mood even more than going out with Mafalda and Elio’s parents, he doesn’t want to go at Elio’s expense. 

He’s relaxed a lot compared to New York here, and Oliver doesn’t want to put a dark mark on their so far relatively nice break.

“I’ll be fine,” Elio says as genuinely as he can, soothing his conscience. “I’ll help Mafalda make dinner and watch a movie with mom like I used to – it’ll be nice.”

“Okay… will you tell them I’m sorry I won’t be there for dinner, or the rest of it?” Oliver asks, satisfied that Elio will be okay as he starts towards the door – him and his mom watching a movie like they did when he was little might actually be nice for them.

“They won’t mind,” Elio assures with a smile, waving goodbye as they go, leaving the house silent.

After a few moments staring at the doorway where he saw them last he gets up with a sigh and seeks out his mother – the last thing he needs right now is to sit alone with his thoughts.

After lighting the menorah and helping with his soup Elio finds himself on the couch with his mother, leaning his head on her shoulder in an echo of times they’ve done this here before. He feels like a child again, sitting wrapped up in a blanket with his legs over her lap like this, a familiar movie playing…

Something is still heavy in his chest though.

Annella sighs and brushes a hand through his curls when he doesn’t smile on a line that usually makes him laugh.

“Are you sad you couldn’t go with Oliver and Marzia tonight?” she asks quietly.

“No,” Elio denies, shaking his head before considering. “Well… maybe a little,” he says honestly. “But it’s okay.”

Annella hums thoughtfully – doubtfully – and picks up one of her son’s hands to massage it the way he’s always liked when they’ve done this before.

“Oh _piccino,”_ she exclaims softly on feeling his skin. “Why so dry?”

Elio tenses up for a moment before he realises he can just tell the truth for this part.

“I’ve just been washing them more often lately,” he says. “I didn’t want to get the flu that’s going around… They said it’s bad this year.”

“And you still got sick,” Annella almost coos, kissing her son’s fingers kindly and getting up to find some lotion. 

When she returns she gently massages it into his hands, allowing him to slowly fall asleep to the movie as she does. If he’s been feeling as sick and tired as he says she figures he must need the sleep.

Maybe some parents would say their children were too old for this by now, but never, for Annella.

Her brow furrows a little at how… almost gaunt, her son’s face seems as she looks down at him sleeping, but she ultimately brushes it off as a combination of growing up and being sick.

A small part of her chest can’t quite relax after having noticed though, with her memories of how sick he looked when he was younger…

A part of her will never stop looking for signs that something is wrong again.

At Le Danzing Oliver is glad to see that Marzia doesn’t share Elio’s aversion to alcohol, because while he may find her easier to be around than most strangers, they’ve still only been acquainted for an hour or two.

“So, Oliver,” Marzia says when they’ve downed a shot each with matching grins, and taken a beer and some kind of light blue mixed drink to a table up the back. “How did you and Elio meet again?”

“I bought something from the bookshop he works at,” Oliver says with a shrug, glad he was too caught up to remember that ‘work _ed’_ was a more appropriate word to use and have to consciously lie about it.

“He asked you, I assume,” she says with a sip of her drink and a knowing smile.

“Well _I_ wasn’t about to ask,” Oliver laughs before catching himself. “Not because he isn’t amazing or gorgeous or anything; obviously, you know… he is.”

Marzia laughs at his flustered blush.

“He _is_ very pretty – you don’t seem like the overly forward type though,” she agrees, nodding.

“Read me like a book,” Oliver smiles, relaxing a little as the alcohol does its work on him. 

“I’ve been known to do that,” Marzia says with a tone Oliver can’t quite read, and chooses not to analyse too much.

He finds that the conversation flows as easily as the drinks as the night goes on, and Oliver can truly see how Elio is still friends with Marzia after so many years, and so many other throwaway acquaintances. She’s funny and willing to brush things off, and yet seemingly also incredibly wise for her years. 

He can see how she’ll be a good therapist.

 _Maybe that’s why Elio hasn’t lost his mind before,_ a part of Oliver’s tipsy mind supplies. 

“…Elio’s not really home because he’s sick, is he?” she asks after an hour or two, tilting her head and taking a long sip from her straw as she stares at him in silence.

“No,” Oliver eventually admits, a little too tired and a little too drunk to lie. 

“So what’s wrong?” Marzia asks. “Did I upset him or something? He seemed… distant.”

Oliver sighs and rubs his face briefly before leaning back in his chair.

“No, nothing like that,” he assures. “He’s just afraid to get sick in the cold.”

 _It’s the truth, if not the whole truth,_ he bargains with himself.

“Ah,” Marzia says, nodding with understanding – perhaps understanding more than was said. 

Oliver knows Elio hasn’t told Marzia all that he’s told him about when he was sick or the continuing aftermath, but he gets the sense that she knows anyway.

Truth be told Oliver isn’t sure how _everyone_ who’s known Elio doesn’t know.

“…Just keep an eye on that,” she says after a time, a strange edge to her voice and a slight furrowing in her brow. 

“I will… I am,” Oliver nods, perhaps a little more sombre than he intends. 

Marzia studies him for a moment – she fears what she wants to say might be a bit forward, but with the alcohol she’s finding it hard not to say it with what she’s picked up from Elio’s calls and meeting Oliver.

“Can I give you some advice, Oliver?” she asks – and again, it’s clear to him that he can say no if he wants to.

He raises his eyebrows in surprise and takes a sip.

“By all means,” he says, curious what it is she has to say.

Marzia takes a moment to think about her phrasing before she speaks.

“I think—” she begins, before pausing and reconsidering again with a hum. 

She purses her lips and levels Oliver with a stare.

“Just don’t let him be the only person in your life that you’re truly close to,” she says, slowly and kindly. “It’s much easier to be close with someone like Elio when you can _rely_ on others.”

The words reverberate in Oliver’s head as he takes in their meaning.

At first he’s set to tell her that her advice is unnecessary – he’s still good friends with Sadie after all, and he’s been messaging with Adrian on and off…

But he realises a moment later, that he _is_ less close with Sadie than he used to be. And he’s been meaning to see Adrian again since that night… Even his cat receives much less of his attention when something is happening with Elio.

He doesn’t say that though.

“What do you mean, ‘someone like Elio’?” he eventually asks, though not accusatively.

Marzia replies without hesitation – she loves her friend, but she knows him.

“Someone with problems, and no interest in solving them.”

“He will, though,” Oliver immediately denies, shaking his head.

 _It’s not like it’s a lost cause,_ his mind insists.

“He might,” Marzia nods, settling the conversation before it can get too intense. “…And I’m glad he has someone like you in his life, who hasn’t given up when it’s gotten hard.”

They fall silent again after her diplomatic words, as Oliver considers her advice.

She’s right that he hasn’t given up, and he’s not willing to yet… 

But she’s also right that it’s probably a good idea, for both of them, if he doesn’t let other friendships fall too far by the wayside.

_How did she even know to say that?_

“…You’re good at that,” Oliver says with a exaggerated suspicious glare and a small huff of laughter as he leaves his echoing thoughts, leaving his mind and coming back to the jovial atmosphere of the club.

“I’d better be,” Marzia replies drily after she drains her drink. “I’m going to be a therapist.” 

She smiles and collects their empty glasses before she rises to get another round. 

“And the therapist suggests more drink and less heavy talk for the two new friends,” she smiles. “Though this has to be the last if I don’t want to end up sleeping on one of the Perlmans’ many beautiful sofas.”

Oliver laughs at that raises his glass in cheers before he finishes his own drink, only too willing to follow her lead after such a heavy few weeks.

At the villa Elio is sitting in his bed with he covers pulled up around him, having told his mother upon waking that he was starting to feel feverish, and been bid goodnight with loving concern.

He’s not tired though, after his nap on the couch, and he ends up scrolling listlessly through his phone waiting for Oliver to come back.

 _Why aren’t they back yet?_ he wonders as his mood slowly lowers and he starts to have stupid, useless thoughts about holding Oliver back and being left behind…

_They left hours ago…_

When he tires of Instagram he ends up on Facebook, and April must see him come online because a few minutes later he’s receiving a call.

“Hey,” he says with a small smile. “Perfect timing.”

“Really?” she replies happily. “I’m good at that aren’t I?”

“Mm,” Elio agrees. 

She’s had a knack for calling while Oliver was out or at work, the three or four times she’s called since the initial disaster call.

“…Still dangerous though.,” Elio sighs. “He’s going to see your name on the screen one day.”

“…Would that be the worst thing?” she asks, bringing up the already-tired disagreement.

They’ve been calling and texting for a couple of weeks now, and since the awkwardness and the nerves wore off the only thing that’s caused real tension between them is whether Elio should tell Oliver about it.

He’s April’s only chance at getting Oliver’s number and she knows it, so she usually lets it drop.

“Yes it would,” he says flatly, shutting the debate down as April sighs.

“…How is he?” she asks, as she always does. 

Elio shrugs though she can’t see.

“I don’t know,” he says softly, resisting the urge to pout. “He seems kind of down I guess, but I don’t know why. I thought he’d be excited to be out here and get to do Hanukkah stuff again.”

“Well…” April says, drawing the word out. “You did kind of spring it on him and go around him with his work, and… Hanukkah wasn’t like, a super warm, wholesome thing in our house growing up anyway. It’s still not.”

“What do you mean?” Elio asks, leaning forward. “Did something happen?”

“I mean… sort of,” April supplies before sighing. “It’s always really serious, obviously – you’ve heard about our parents… It’s a tense time. He forgot the words to one of the blessings one year and dad really went off on him.”

“What do you mean ‘went off on him’?” Elio asks. “Did he hit him or something?”

“I mean… obviously,” April says, sounding uncomfortable. “It wasn’t anything that crazy, it just sucked. You should probably still hear about it from him though.”

“Well… You know about how Oliver feels about telling people things,” Elio says, realising exactly how rich it is coming from him.

April is silent for a time after – long enough for Elio to feel guilty for bringing such a sore topic for her to the surface. He knows how much it upsets her that Oliver didn’t tell her he was gay.

“Sorry,” he mumbles eventually. “…He wanted to tell you. He told me he wanted to tell you, he was just…”

“Scared,” April supplies stiltedly. “I know.”

Elio lets out a huff of breath.

“I always make such a great impression on these calls,” he laughs humourlessly. “I promise I’m usually more tactful. And fun.”

“Me too,” April says, a small smile in her voice.

There’s silence for a while, but she picks up a new topic before it becomes awkward.

“So where is he? Why aren’t you out with him?”

“He’s out with my friend Marzia – I thought they’d probably like each other, but they got on so well I didn’t want to be their third wheel,” he laughs, trying to avoid the subject of why he’s home by himself with humour. “I’m not sure if it’s just because he’s getting less nervous around new people or what, but it stopped being awkward pretty quickly,” he notes, giving her something else to latch onto.

“I still can’t picture him being nervous around people like that,” April says broodingly. “He’s changed so much; he always seemed so confident…”

“He lost his mask when the truth came out,” Elio shrugs, though not casually. “He had to relearn how to do everything as himself, after his whole world changed in one night.”

Sometimes Elio doesn’t think April fully understands how traumatic what happened was for Oliver, even if he doesn’t say it. 

It was his worst-case scenario fear growing up, and it happened.

“He was my best friend,” April says, pensively. “I thought I knew who he was underneath the mask.” 

“You did, mostly,” Elio tries to reassure. “You still do, just… a little different.”

He doesn’t want to make her feel like her brother is a stranger; he wants her to become _closer_ to him through this, so it’s easier when they meet again…

Why can’t this just be a happy, positive thing?

“And anyway, like I said; I think he’s becoming more confident again,” he says, trying to move on. “Did I tell you that he’s starting to be more comfortable saying that he’s gay?”

For a moment in the silence following his question he thinks maybe _she’s_ uncomfortable about it, but then she speaks.

“I’m glad,” she says simply; earnestly. 

Elio can hear the heartbreak through her words though – the heartbreak he hears _every_ time he mentions Oliver working construction, or the bad, cheap food he was eating when they met, or how unsure he still is about accepting that cheque from Annella and Sami; _still_ sitting uncashed in his bedside table…

He found, and finds those things troubling. But he can’t imagine how much worse it all must seem, in comparison to the way both Oliver and his sister describe him _before._

“Well… I should probably go to sleep,” Elio says, though they’ve only been talking for a few minutes. “I can talk when we get back to New York?”

“Call anytime?” April asks almost playfully. “You always seem to be free when he’s not around,” she muses with a laugh, unaware of how true her statement is.

“Yeah,” Elio says softly, looking down as they say their goodbyes and hang up.

 _Jesus, I need to start doing something,_ he thinks – his thoughts sounding curiously like Oliver. 

_New hobbies or something – anything._

_Something to help Oliver keep feeling like it’s all okay, if nothing else…_

When Oliver arrives back at the villa he has a shower as quickly and quietly as he can manage and crawls into his and Elio’s bed. 

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asks with a sigh as he feels Elio stir.

The truth is that no, he didn’t wake him. He’s been unable to sleep since receiving Marzia’s pictures of them both of them smiling and laughing at Le Danzing without him.

“No, you didn’t wake me,” he finally says.

“Hm, good,” Oliver sighs contentedly, tightening his grip briefly – Elio can smell the alcohol on him despite a shower and brushed teeth.

“You guys had fun then?” he asks anxiously, unsure whether he hopes they did or they didn’t.

“Mm,” Oliver hums. “We drank, we had a heart to heart, we even danced a little at the end…”

“Heart to heart?” Elio asks. “About what?”

“About how we love you,” Oliver replies, pressing his lips to his boyfriend’s neck. 

Elio goes silent and frowns, unsure what he thinks about it. He thinks maybe he’s just feeling off tonight, but his thoughts run wild in the quiet.

Oliver thinks he might have drifted off, and he’s right on the precipice himself, but a few moments later he speaks again.

“Oliver?” he asks, uncertain. 

“Mm?”

“…Would you have chosen to be with me if you knew I was going to turn out to be like this?”

Oliver’s eyes open briefly, but he’s too drunk and too tired to keep them open long.

“What do you mean?” he breathes drowsily. 

Elio sighs.

“Would you have said yes to going on that date with me if you’d known it would be… like it is, being with me?”

“I love being with you; I love you,” Oliver assures bluntly.

“I know you love me,” Elio says quietly, frustrated. “But if you had _known…”_

Oliver sighs.

“It’s a stupid question, Elio,” he says honestly.

The younger man is silent for a moment, a lump rising in his throat. 

“Why is it stupid?” he asks in a small voice, unable to keep his anxieties at bay.

“Because I don’t know,” Oliver sighs, too tired to reassure him the way he would if they were speaking normally. “There’s no way to know. I would make the choice feeling the way I do right now – does that answer your question?”

No, it doesn’t.

Well… he thinks it does. Just maybe not the way he wanted. 

Elio’s frown doesn’t disappear and neither does his insecurity, but he swallows it all back knowing it’s all useless right now and will just make this worse.

“Yes, thank you,” he says as evenly as he can, biting his quivering lip afterwards. 

“I love you,” Oliver says as a goodnight, kissing his neck again.

“I love you too,” Elio says, tightening his grip on the arm around him.

He closes his eyes and pretends to sleep until he hears Oliver’s breath even out.

He sighs, and call to mind the memory of his mother massaging his hands earlier in the evening. The calmness, the kindness… for a moment his mind was totally blank.

 _It was nice, at least, to get a break here,_ he thinks to himself, almost echoing Oliver’s thoughts several days earlier.

_If only we could all just stay here forever…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many iterations, but hopefully is didn't read as disjointed trash?? I promise some happiness in the next chapter :)
> 
> Please leave me a comment, so I can read them to my cat/mum/self ❤️❤️
> 
> (Srsly pls, I have a plan but feedback helps a lot lol)


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio and Oliver enjoy a reprieve as much as they can...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like it doesn't mean anything to say I think it's trash anymore but I said I Would post it tonight 😂 If I've posted it just assume I hate it lol
> 
> Just a quick bit of something a little lighter before shit hits the fan - I think the boys needed a little while to ignore everything
> 
> Sunny hopeful song mentioned is [Suddenly](https://youtu.be/eU4lQDu9rNE?t=124)  
> Also I have an image of Elio lip-syncing hardcore to [Renegade by Styx,](https://youtu.be/ZXhuso4OTG4?t=171) so imagine with me lol

Having heeded Marzia’s advice… it’s a lot easier for Oliver to relax about everything after they get back from Italy.

The first thing he does after getting himself unpacked and feeding Princess is collect the bottle of wine Sadie hasn’t already commandeered for feeding the white fluffball all week, and knock on her door.

She swings it open with enough force to blow her hair and skirt back, revealing a warm apartment full of cheap tinsel and old Christmas decorations.

“Oh,” she says, tilting her head and crossing her arms. “I thought you’d still have your head up his ass for at least another day or two.”

“Nope,” Oliver smiles, holding out the bottle and hoping she’ll accept his offering. “Just wanted to come see my best friend who I love so very, very much.”

“Oh, your _best_ friend?” Sadie says doubtfully as she takes the bottle – though she can’t keep the corner of her lip from twitching up. “…Well Princess is _my_ best friend now.”

Oliver can’t stop smiling as he follows her into the apartment.

“Though she is a decidedly less enthusiastic drinking partner,” Sadie acknowledges, turning off the act and almost skipping into the kitchen to uncork the bottle, always happy to taste fancy wine. “One thing I will give Elio…” she says, “…is that I never had a use for a corkscrew until you two got together.”

Oliver realises in that moment how much he’s missed just… hanging out, with Sadie; for a long time he’s only seen her with Elio and that hasn’t always left room for their old dynamic in the conversation.

Things are just _easy_ with Sadie.

_How long has it been since we’ve just sat outside with a bottle of wine and a packet of cigarettes, like we did the night I met Elio for the first time?_

“Stop smiling, you’re freaking me out,” Sadie says with a side eye and a small laugh as she turns on her speaker and searches for her favourite band on her phone.

_How long has it been since I’ve heard Sadie’s ‘favourite Jewish, Canadian singing twins’?_

“I’m just happy to see you,” Oliver shrugs, glad in the moment that he went out to Le Danzing that night.

“Well… you should be,” Sadie says slowly, grabbing two of her mother’s crystal wine glasses and gesturing to the small balcony with her head.

Soon they’re settled on the plastic chairs with two cigarettes and two glasses of wine between them. Oliver knows, as he always has, that smoking out here isn’t good for him, but after spending so much time around Elio’s health fanaticism it’s nice to just… do something that’s bad for him.

Elio always seems to have some kind of statistic ready to slip into conversation.

“So…” Sadie sighs around a plume of smoke in the winter air, pulling a pair of thick socks out of her knit cardigan’s pocket and putting them on to ward against the cold. “How was Italy?”

In the moment Oliver considers finally telling Sadie everything going on with Elio – he’s going to need to tell her eventually if it continues like it will, after all…

But… he just doesn’t want to right now. 

Marzia was right – he needs to have some things in his life that aren’t about Elio. He needs to be able to rely on Sadie, and part of that is having conversations about other things with her.

“It was nice,” he says with a shrug and a sip from his glass. 

“Nice?” Sadie repeats doubtfully.

“Nothing bad happened,” Oliver assures – nothing new anyway. “Just nothing to write home about.”

“Okay…” Sadie draws out, making a face before making a noise of acceptance. “Well, do you want to hear about what happened with Diego while you were gone?”

“What happened with Diego?” Oliver asks, smiling at her excitement. 

He makes the appropriate noises in the appropriate places as Sadie describes her weekend with Elio’s driver; from taking him to her favourite dive bar to taking him home, to being taken home by him the next day…

Oliver stops her once she gets past describing his ‘masculine but refined’ apartment and into the more sordid details.

“I do _not_ need the images you’re about to put in my head to be there the next time I’m stuck in traffic with him for half an hour.”

By the time they go to bed they’ve broken out another bottle of _markedly_ lower quality wine and reached the giggling-stupidly stage of tipsiness, which Oliver suspects he may regret at work the next morning.

He doesn’t mind though. Elio has helped him become more comfortable with himself and taught him many things since they’ve been together, but being with Sadie like feels like coming back to himself, in a way.

He feels somehow lighter in the morning, despite the slight pounding in his head…

He feels something like balance, for the first time in a while.

Things in Elio’s head don’t get worse for the change though, from what Oliver can tell as the New Year comes and goes and life continues.

He spends the beginning of New Years Eve with Elio and then meets up with Sadie and Adrian to go on with Adrian’s friends until midnight, and it feels in that moment like they’ve reached some kind of equilibrium. 

Elio insists he was planning on going to bed at the normal time anyway and Oliver chooses to believe him, so there’s no tension there.

Elio doesn’t seem weighed down the way he has sometimes recently, when Oliver comes to visit him in his ever-clean apartment – Elio never comes to visit _him_ anymore. As long as Oliver showers and gets changed before getting too close he seems perfectly content when they see each other, and it’s nice to just pretend that everything is okay for a while.

Oliver thinks perhaps it’s Elio’s new hobbies helping him – there’s always been a piano in the apartment but he actually _plays_ it fairly regularly now. 

He’s very good, Oliver thinks, with admiration and envy when he plays…

He only wishes he would do something with it.

There are so many things Elio could do if he weren’t stuck inside. Not that he was racing to get to university or find a place in the workforce before.

He takes up baking as well as spring comes, though he never actually consumes the sweet treats he makes. He brings in plants, too – so many plants – as the weeks and months go by, to oxygenate the apartment and to give him something to do when he wakes up every morning other than take his medications. 

He tends to them so carefully, is so proud when they flourish and thrive in their perfectly controlled environment…

The feeling of control is so soothing to Elio when they cooperate, he can’t help but smile.

Oliver has hated it in the past, but if Elio isn’t going to change yet… it’s nice in a way, for him to be able to go to his apartment after a hard day and know that even if he’s not truly feeling it, he’ll be acting so happy that they both might make it to the real thing.

It gets easier, for a while, to ignore everything and just sail along smoothly.

Oliver gets to have memories of Elio singing as he bakes to see him through the work of the next day, and Elio gets to occupy himself in a way that makes him feel safe. 

Elio gets to watch Oliver’s exhaustion from work melt away as he takes in the beautiful meal he’s put on the table as he does the dishes, and Oliver gets to have a candlelit dinner after work.

Oliver gets to curl up with Elio on the couch and have him whisper along to the parts of the movie they’re watching that are in Italian, and kiss him every time he can’t bear to hear his mouth make such enticing sounds any longer… Elio gets memories of being adored to ease him through the long days alone…

Everybody wins.

Of course Elio’s culinary skills have only improved because he’s trusted the hygiene practices of his previously-favourite restaurants less over time… but as long as he can talk to other people about it, Oliver can make himself see the bright side for now.

It doesn’t hurt that their sex life has remained un-impacted by everything that’s happened… 

Sure Oliver misses _going places_ with Elio, and eventually it’ll be too hard to keep pretending it’s okay, he knows… but he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it and count his blessings in the meantime. 

Elio’s happiness isn’t wholly forced anyway, as the weather slowly warms but he remains indoors.

He feels safe in his apartment, with his movies, and his piano, and his plants, and his clean air and clean surfaces, and his newly discovered talent in the kitchen… he knows Oliver thinks he’s restricting himself, but truthfully he’s doing more with his days now than he ever has before.

…He’s really good at darts now if nothing else; especially in comparison to Oliver when he’s had a few beers on a Friday night.

He’s pretty sure that his parents started to catch on that something was different after the villa, but since he’s made himself go to their place for dinner once a week they seem less onto him… and one night a week isn’t so bad.

The only thing that truly worries him now that he’s sorted keeping himself safe, is Oliver still not knowing about his conversations with his sister. 

He’s too far in now to break it to him easily, and he doesn’t want to rock the boat while things are nice, so he just compartmentalises it as best he can.

He tries not to get too lonely while Oliver is busy with Sadie or Adrian or at work, building up a collection of toys for Luna and calling April more often when she says she’s free, for socialisation outside of him. 

She seems less sad about what’s happened to Oliver as he tells her more about things with him these days – she seems proud, though she’s definitely on Elio’s side with the cheque he _still_ hasn’t used, which is nothing but gratifying. 

He can tell it’s frustrating her more and more not to be able to talk to him, but things are so easy right now… he can’t risk giving her an avenue of communication to ruin everything.

He’s not the only one having conversations he believes his partner doesn’t know about, anyway.

One night when Oliver goes to the bathroom Elio starts going through his notifications out of sheer boredom and finds a recent conversation with Marzia.

He tries not to be upset by her praising Oliver for strengthening his other relationships, but… it’s hard not to see it as her caring more for Oliver than himself, when he needs Oliver as much as he ever has. 

More.

It’s hard not to feel less hopeful about things as his other friends reply to him less and less as he stops taking them up on their plans. He’s never kept the same friends for too long before and that’s never bothered him in the past, but it was always so easy to make new ones before… 

How can he do that, now?

Nonetheless, he tries to keep a positive outlook and succeeds most the of the time if not all.

Overall, things are good.

Well, things are… okay, mostly.

 _It’s better to be a little lonely than dead,_ Elio reasons. 

He does arrange for something special when the weather starts to get warmer though.

He can see whatever spell was cast on Oliver after Italy slowly wearing off in May, and the discontent he senses brewing makes him even more antsy than usual. 

He needs to get out, but in a safe way.

He honestly doesn’t know why he hasn’t thought to do this before; it’s been warm enough to do this for weeks now…

As June draws nearer he tells Oliver to be ready to be picked up for a Saturday lunch, and packs a nice, homemade, organic, pesticide-free picnic.

 _As close as we can get to how good food used to be,_ he muses to himself as he smiles placing it in the back of the car.

He turns on the playlist he specifically made for this date and watches the city go by when the time comes to leave. He can admire it so much more easily when he’s separated from its dangers like this. 

Of course the car could crash and everything could go wrong in ways completely unrelated to his compromised immune system, but he trusts Diego to deliver him safely to his date…

He’s pretty sure he used to drive in a military capacity, so he’s as safe as he can be.

Elio knows Oliver can see his happiness and his eagerness for what awaits as he walks up smiling and opens the door, kissing him warmly and sitting as close as possible.

“So are you going to tell me where we’re going now?” he asks with something Elio would almost describe as a smirk, nudging his shoulder.

“Nope,” Elio grins, “Big surprise.” 

His chest is full to bursting at getting to _go out_ somewhere with Oliver again, and he can’t keep it hidden.

“As long as it’s somewhere other than your apartment,” Oliver laughs, leaning into his side.

Elio finds himself surprisingly not brought down by the words. He feels untouchable as Diego leaves Oliver’s apartment behind, and eventually the city altogether…

It’s like in one of the million movies he’s watched over the past months, as they enter the more rural parts of the city’s surrounds to a song so sunny and hopeful it almost makes up for being so stuck inside for so long.

Oliver doesn’t stop smiling as they settle in an unoccupied, secluded park and set everything up. 

He doesn’t stop smiling as Elio pulls out all of the cold dishes he’s spent the morning preparing. 

He doesn’t stop smiling as Elio silently insists that they both sanitise their hands, either.

 _This is perfect,_ Elio thinks as they sit, and eat, and talk.

 _This is perfect,_ he thinks as they lie down with their fingers intertwined to look up at the fluffy white clouds.

 _This is perfect,_ he thinks as they talk about everything and nothing until the sun slowly begins to dip and they begin to grow hungry again.

They don’t talk about anyone’s health, and they don’t talk about Oliver’s work… they don’t talk about anything difficult, or heavy.

It’s so simple, but so beautiful.

“I’m so glad you did this,” Oliver sighs, bringing their joined hands up to his mouth to kiss Elio’s. Elio can hear the relief in his voice as he breathes, “We have to do this again…”

Oliver turns onto his side and studies Elio’s pale face in the orange light of the slowly setting sun.

“Can we go places more often, now that it’s getting warm?” he asks, with open hope in his voice.

All Elio hears is, _‘Can I begin to push you out of your safe-zone again, please?’_

He swallows and meets his eyes briefly before looking back up at the sky.

“Yeah,” he manages. “We can—We can go places like this – far away, you know.”

Oliver looks less than content for the first time all afternoon at that, but he’s not going to ruin this, when they’ve both been so happy today.

“Okay,” he says, forcing a smile to his lips and kissing Elio’s cheek. “Places like this can work…”

 _Well, almost perfect,_ Elio thinks as he leans his head against Oliver on the long drive home, playing him one of his favourite songs from that album he bought him on vinyl so long ago now.

It’s a beautiful song to drive home in the dusk to, if a little sad.

_So very nearly perfect…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully that gave the little taste of something less heavy I'm sensing everyone needed to stick with it lol :')
> 
> Probably only two or maybe three chapters to go, I reckon... Let me know what you thought!
> 
> Hope everyone is well and safe after the holidays ❤️❤️❤️


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio wakes up sick after Oliver finally convinced him to go somewhere with him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter before things come to a head... Song near the end is ['Guarda La Luna'](https://youtu.be/7MFgySHOxt0?t=153)
> 
> I feel like I've worked on this and reworked it so many times that half of it doesn't make sense... I remember those first bunch of chapters, when it all just flowed :')))))
> 
> I hope you like it, not long to go now ❤️❤️

Elio has been shaking all morning.

This time yesterday he was humming happily to himself as he watered his plants, just looking forward to his and Oliver’s upcoming trip back to the villa.

But now… he’s sick. With who _knows_ what.

He knew he should have said no when Oliver asked him if he would go to the museum with him ‘on a quiet day’. Even on a quiet day it’s where the tourists go, and tourists always bring germs and viruses.

But he’d looked so hopeful… Elio hadn’t been able to break his heart, so he’d forced himself to be brave.

It wasn’t worth the risk.

He’s been on the verge of panic all day, pacing around watering plants that are still damp from yesterday and cleaning things, and debating begging Oliver to come over to calm him down though he knows it’ll only speed up the head he knows things will eventually come to.

Oliver has been less and less tolerant of him staying home lately, which was a part of his decision to give in and go to the museum.

 _I can’t stay in New York if this is what happens when I go out once,_ Elio thinks. _I can’t stay inside and keep Oliver, and I can’t go outside unless I’m away at the villa, and Oliver won’t stay at the villa…_

The end result is clear no matter how he chooses to get there. 

The thoughts are running circles around him and Elio can’t catch them to calm himself down, so he jumps on the distraction when his phone rings in his pocket in the afternoon, though he’s not as excited when he sees it’s a Facetime call.

It’s so much harder to fake things when people can see him. 

“What are you still doing your pyjamas? Don’t you _ever_ leave your apartment?” April exclaims, making an exasperated smiling face in what Elio assumes is her room, while she’s in New York, home for a break.

“What do you mean?” he laughs falsely, instantly nervous.

“No matter when I call, day or night, you are always at home – don’t you _go_ anywhere?” she asks, still smiling, but frowning at the same time.

Elio bites his lip, swallowing.

He’s never not known what to say to someone in a situation like this; he must be losing his touch.

“Elio,” April says in a heavy tone when he doesn’t answer, with a softening in her expression that makes him worry she’s reading more into his appearance. 

“…Are you okay?” she asks.

He never liked when Marzia would use that voice with him, and he doesn’t like it any more from Oliver’s sister.

He swallows again and tries to smile reassuringly and brush it off. 

“I’m fine,” he says, but he knows the slight tremor in his voice is less than reassuring. 

“And I’m the king of Spain,” April deadpans.

Elio knows it’s supposed to be funny and loosen him up, but it just makes him want to cry. 

He answered the phone because he wanted to be distracted from his anxiety and this is just making it worse. He can feel it building beneath the surface.

“I’m fine,” he repeats.

But a single, unexpected tear falls with the words. 

He lowers his phone so she won’t see and sniffs, wondering how much is his illness getting worse and how much is the crying. 

“…Did something happen with you and Oliver?” April asks gravely, at which Elio huffs a humourless laugh. 

“No,” he says softly with a grimace and a few more tears, before whispering almost inaudibly, “Not yet…”

“What do you mean ‘not yet’,” April demands, not unkind but growing impatient with the fuss. “What’s happening? Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” Elio denies, shaking his head, though the thickness in his voice says otherwise. 

“Yes you are—”

“God, just leave it alone!” Elio snaps, ending the call abruptly in panic and frustration.

The sudden silence is jarring; the sudden sense of loneliness… 

It hits him as he breathes out, how tired he is of how quiet it is up here. It’s a different quiet at the villa, with the wind and the birds…

He misses life at the villa – always a little, but desperately in that moment. It’s nice there, and he just feels lonely here, even as his phone rings and rings with someone who cares on the other side of the call.

A few more tears fall and then he can’t stop them as everything seems to crash down on him and his chest heaves. It feels like he can’t get enough air into his lungs as he goes to his bed and curls up to cry. It’s too similar to how his chest used to feel, which only makes it worse…

His crying is wordless, with no one around to hear and too many things to grieve for to put into words. 

He misses not feeling scared all the time, he misses going places with Oliver, he misses seeing a future where he’s safe and Oliver doesn’t leave him, he misses _people,_ he misses being able to stuff all the bad down and just keep smiling until it goes away…

He misses feeling like the air was fresh and clean and _safe_ outside…

It feels like he cries for a long time, but he knows only perhaps twenty minutes elapse between when he gets into his bed and when he finds himself lying still again, exhausted.

He hates his body for doing this to him. He wishes more than anything that he didn’t need one. He misses when he was small and he didn’t even think about his body, or where its dying would leave him.

He isn’t quite sure what he’s feeling when his phone rings again, after having gone silent.

Eventually he feels an annoyance at its ringing that seems almost vulgar – too abrupt after his strangely comfortable peace, lying there with his hatred and his regret and his grief. 

Sighing, he grabs his phone and answers on his side with his eyes closed.

“What?” he asks, not even trying to hide his anger.

He doesn’t hear what he wants to hear, on the other side of the line. 

“This guy won’t let me up. Can you tell him to let me up?”

Elio sits up at the words.

“What?” he asks again, his shock reading clear.

“I’m downstairs,” April explains, impatient. “Can you tell the desk guy to let me up?”

“I—” Elio flounders, looking around like he might find an excuse somewhere. “You can’t come up here,” he finally says, bluntly, before he can think of anything better to say.

“Elio,” April sighs, and he can picture her pinching her nose and tapping her foot. “You can’t just start crying in the middle of a phone call and then hang up and not answer, and expect someone _not_ to make sure you’re okay. I thought you might be doing something… stupid.”

It’s clear what she means from her tone at the end. 

“I’m not going to _kill_ myself,” Elio says, scoffing at the idea when it feels like all he does is try to stay _alive,_ lately. “How do you even know where I live?” he asks, confused.

“Chastity told me,” April sighs, brushing it off. “Now can you please let me up?”

“You can’t come up,” he repeats, swallowing. “Everything is fine, you don’t need to come up.”

“…Do you want to try telling the truth?” April says, an eyeroll and a head shake in her tone.

 _God, like brother like sister,_ Elio thinks, floundering for an excuse.

“Do you want me to tell this man to call the police for a wellness check or something?” April asks, applying pressure.

Elio lets out a whine at the words.

He’s not sure she’d do it, but he’s also not sure she wouldn’t. He hasn’t known her long enough to judge but he knows Oliver was worried that she’d do something stupid when his father was kicking him out, so she’s not always the coolest head.

And the door guy hasn’t seen him much in recent months – he might do it if she was a good enough actress….

“Don’t,” he says weakly after a moment, imagining the stupid drama of it and the extra people bringing even more germs in with them while his immune system is already being attacked – and Oliver is a lot more likely to find out about April if the fucking _police_ come…

He begins to shake again at the thought.

“Fine,” he says softly, feeling pathetic knowing what she’s going to think when she comes up. “Just…” he sighs. “Just don’t come too close when you get up.”

There’s silence for a long time as April frowns and processes the words.

“Okay…” she says eventually, drawing out the word in confusion before moving past it. “Just tell this guy to let me up, okay?”

Elio sighs and does as she asks when she hands the phone to the guard, who recognises his voice.

He hates the way she’s twisting him into whatever shape she wants, and it’s almost enough to make him regret ever having contacted her… but he’s heard so many stories from her of when she and Oliver were close during their phone calls. And it’s been nice having someone to talk to who wasn’t constantly asking him to come out and do things, or if they could come over…

Up until now, of course.

When she hangs up Elio stands and makes his plan. He’ll sit them down at the dining table – long enough that he’ll be safer if she sits on the other side – and tell her that he just hates getting sick and he’s being stupid about it. 

He can play the part of the overemotional baby. 

If she just does what he wants her to do he can get the situation under control and get her to leave long before whenever Oliver arrives back home.

The thought of Oliver coming home to find her in the apartment sends his heart racing, but he thinks he’s mostly got it under control by the time the doors open.

He’s been too focused on that to think of something to say though, so he’s standing by the table like a deer in the headlights when she enters his space. He knows he looks like shit – getting sick has always knocked him on his ass, and the crying and the anxiety haven’t helped.

It’s so different being in April’s presence than on the phone with her, he thinks – she’s cast such a long shadow in Oliver’s stories…

“Hi,” April says, slowly walking over. 

For all her bravado to get up here and make sure everything is okay, she’s not entirely sure what to do now. She didn’t come up with a plan beyond this point.

“Hey,” Elio says, forcing a dull smile that falls almost as soon as it’s made.

He’s embarrassed. 

He knows his place is nice, but once you know he rarely leaves, it becomes sad, and he can’t think of a way to avoid her figuring out the extent of it if she wants to dig around.

She stops two metres away and brings a hand to the back of her neck in an awkward gesture that reminds Elio so much of Oliver he struggles to breathe. 

He can see how her brother has influenced her, as much as Oliver likes to praise her headstrong, self-assured nature.

“Are you okay?” she asks, before shaking her head. “Of course not, stupid question…”

She makes like she’s about to step forward to give a hug – the only thing that could feel natural to her in this scenario – but catches herself quickly when she sees Elio back away ever so slightly.

“Why can’t I come closer?” she asks, looking around for a clue in her surroundings.

Elio sighs. 

_God this is awful._

“I’m sick,” he says with a stuffy nasality that proves his statement true, and a helpless shrug.

It feels somehow _more_ real now that he’s said the words.

“I’m not worried about getting sick, Elio,” April laughs with a slight frown of bewilderment, though thankfully she doesn’t come closer yet. 

“It’s not you that I’m worried about,” Elio says flatly, trying to control his anxiety. 

“I don’t understand,” April says. 

She’s lost until her gaze wanders to the scar partially visible above the loose collar of one of Oliver’s too-big shirts, and then the bright orange medication bottles lined up on the kitchen counter. Comprehension dawns in her eyes and her mouth opens to form a silent ‘oh’.

She’s noticed the top of the scar before, but always assumed it was a birthmark or a burn or something.

“You’re immunocompromised,” she says, revelation in her tone.

Elio nods, grateful she seems to understand at least something of what that means. 

“Shit,” April says, looking away as she thinks, for a moment – how immunocompromised? “…Is it safe for me to be here?” she asks.

Elio sighs, not knowing what answer to give but confident that she won’t question whatever he says; she seems to know what the word means, but he’ll bet she doesn’t know enough to tell him he’s being ridiculous – with words, or with her eyes like Oliver does sometimes now…

“…Not like this,” he says eventually with a vulnerable gesture, meeting her gaze. 

“How can I make it safe?” she asks with an apology in her eyes.

With the sense of conflict gone Elio suddenly feels incredibly awkward through his anxiety, fiddling with his fingers. 

“I mean… Oliver usually just showers and gets changed, and that’s about as safe as we can make it,” he shrugs uncomfortably.

“Okay,” April says, instantly accepting the information. “Can I do that? I can just borrow some clothes, and get back into these after?”

Elio swallows and nods, grateful for her efforts to make him comfortable.

He feels out of place in his own space as she gives a slightly _off_ smile and points to the bathroom with a questioning gaze. He nods and watches her go, rooted to the spot. 

When the door clicks shut he frowns, his mind running over the events of the last few minutes – it’s more commotion than he’s been accustomed to in here for a long time…

His embarrassment and shame and anxiety all bubble to the surface again once he’s alone, but he manages to mostly control the crying even if he can’t stop a few tears. He feels ridiculous but it’s all just so overwhelming…

It’s less embarrassing to have her here than it would be if she had ever known him another way, he supposes, and the thought is comforting enough…

His eyes are still wet and red by the time she comes in to find him, wearing one of her brother’s big shirts and a pair of sleep shorts pulled as tight as they go around her hips. 

“Now we match,” she says with a smile.

“Fuck,” Elio laughs wetly before pushing his fists into his eyes.

 _She probably pities you, this is so embarrassing,_ his mind says on repeat.

Though a part of him supposes it’s better than panicking over being sick _by himself_ all day.

April sits gently on the edge of the mattress and takes one of his hands, in another gesture that reminds Elio so much of Oliver when he’s gentle that he can’t breathe.

“Why have you been crying?” she asks softly. 

Elio can’t look her in the eyes as she searches his. 

It’s too much too quickly from someone he ultimately doesn’t know that well, and someone he wasn’t sure he ever expected to meet in person, in his heart. 

“It’s nothing,” he says, instantly going back to just wanting everyone to go away and let him deal with his shit by himself.

But she knows that he won’t deal with it by himself, so he’s stuck.

“…I don’t want to be sick again,” he finally cries, unable to keep it in as he hides his face in his hands.

 _I don’t even let Marzia in like this,_ he thinks. _What_ is _it with Lachmans?_

April’s eyes flick down to his chest again, wincing at how deep the cut must have been – all the way through skin and bone. She frowns at the words, hearing in his voice that Elio is sick, but not what most people would consider _very_ sick.

“When did that happen?” she asks, gesturing to his chest.

“I was a kid,” Elio sniffs, pulling his knees to his chest. “Ten.”

“…But it wasn’t always like this,” April notes slowly, before clarifying, “You weren’t always this afraid of being sick, at least since you've known Oliver.”

Elio shakes his head, wondering at how that was ever the case.

With her way in opened up, she gently probes and slowly pieces together the situation, figuring out what he’s told her that’s been true and what he’s said to cover things up. It’s clear to Elio when she starts to see him staying inside the way Oliver does… as crazy, rather than necessary.

It takes a while but after some time she feels like she’s got a good understanding of everything that’s happened, that he’s omitted – enough to wonder something.

“Where’s Oliver in all this?” she asks after a moment of silence, confused. 

She knows they love each other, and deeply enough that it’s helped her feel less sad for her brother… why hasn’t he stepped in?

“He’s been trying to let things breathe, I think,” Elio sniffs, shrugging and wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Things were getting tense at first, but he knew I wasn’t ready to change anything, so… he just focused on building a life where he didn’t need me to go places with him to be happy.”

April frowns for the umpteenth time at the statement. It’s clear Elio is heartbroken at the idea of Oliver not needing him that way, but she can’t fault her brother for doing what he’s done if things have been like this for months.

One part of his statement in particular gets her attention though.

“…You’re ready to change things now though?” she asks, wondering if this is some kind of final-straw moment for him.

“I’ll never be ready,” Elio instantly refutes, shaking his head. “I’ll never not be sick, and I’ll never be less likely to catch something and get sicker… It’ll never be safe.”

 _If it’ll never be any safer just go out and live,_ April’s mind insists, but she tells herself she doesn’t know enough to just call him out yet. 

She doesn’t say anything in her uncertainty, but rather than hesitation Elio takes it as silent acceptance of a hopeless situation.

The more he talks about it the more he realises that there’s only one way things can end.

 _Not before the villa though,_ he tells himself silently. 

He just wants some more nice memories before Oliver decides it’s not worth it anymore and goes off to hang out with Sadie – probably to be with Adrian, or one of his new friends that Elio has never met because he’s been stuck here…

He just needs to keep it together until that point.

Elio jumps when his phone breaks the silence beside him, scrambling to answer it to stop the racket. 

“Hello?” he says, not having checked who was calling.

“Hey, how are you?” Oliver replies, with a smile in his voice that relieves some of the anxiety squeezing Elio’s lungs at the thought of him leaving. 

“I’m fine,” Elio says instinctually, though he knows it’s clear it isn’t the truth.

“Are you sure?” Oliver asks. And then slowly, with a sinking in his voice, “…You sound sick.”

His tone is heavy with the knowledge of the mess that a sick Elio means is likely waiting for him at the apartment.

“I am,” Elio says eventually, trying to keep it together. “It’s okay though… it’s not that bad.”

“Okay…” Oliver says, clearly doubting Elio’s words. “I was just going to get changed and head out for dinner with Sadie and Adrian, but they know each other well enough to hang out alone… do you want me to stay home with you? I can make dinner?”

Elio melts a little at Oliver still caring to stay home with him when he could go out.

“No,” he says, however. “No, it’s fine, you should have your dinner. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

_I’m always here…_

“If you’re sure…” Oliver says eventually. 

He’s not entirely convinced that Elio will be okay, but he’d be lying if he said he’d rather spend _another_ night in his apartment than go out somewhere new.

“I’m sure,” Elio says, with a half-believable smile in his voice. “You should have fun tonight.”

“Okay,” Oliver sighs. “I’ll see you in ten? The bar is closer to your place than mine so I thought I’d just get changed there.”

Elio freezes. 

He knows ten minutes is enough time for April to get back into her clothes and leave without crossing her brother’s path, but it doesn’t stop the day’s continual shaking from getting worse again.

“O-okay,” he manages. “I’ll see you then.”

When he hangs up April looks like she’s seen a ghost. 

“He’ll be here soon?” she asks, and he can see in her eyes that she’s weighing up whether it will be worth it to refuse to leave.

“Yes,” Elio says cautiously. “He’ll be here in ten minutes. But you can’t see him yet.”

“Why _not?”_ April asks, as always exasperated by the topic.

“I just spent a long time explaining to you why things are delicate right now,” Elio asserts, his tone stormy. “There will be a right time for you to see him again, but this is not it.”

“When?” she asks, gesturing in frustration. _“When_ will I get to see him?”

“Soon – weeks,” Elio says as he stands, and he’s not lying, he thinks. 

She can do whatever she wants when Oliver has decided all of this isn’t worth it anymore.

April looks like she’s about to object again, but she deflates when she sees the seriousness in Elio’s eyes. She knows she won’t win this fight tonight and as much as she wants to see her brother... she likes Elio. She doesn’t want him not to like her.

“Fine,” she says, standing and heading towards the bathroom, where she left her clothes. 

Elio breathes a sigh of relief and calls quietly after her, “Hurry, please…”

She’s less upset by the time she leaves, keeping her distance as she waves goodbye in her old clothes.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay while he’s at dinner?” she asks, with a sympathy and kindness in her voice that makes her seem much older than she is.

“Yeah,” Elio nods, though it’s not the truth.

She sees the lie but smiles in acceptance as she leaves anyway – she’s beginning to see more of why her brother has let the situation develop as it has.

The quiet in the apartment is less oppressive than when he hung up on her, but still not something he enjoys when he needs distraction, so Elio stands and gets changed. He doesn’t want to look too pathetic when Oliver arrives, so he puts on some music and tries his best not to think about what’s happening in his body as he gets his soup started.

He knows he can’t hide his distress, but at least he won’t seem to be giving in to it…

On his lunchbreak Oliver found himself going through his and Elio’s old texts, today.

It made him smile, but that’s why he regrets it – he’s almost forgotten what it used to be like between him and Elio.

Sure, he used to cover up his sad days by dragging them both around town, but seeing _‘hey, we’re going to that place Sadie showed us tonight btw’_ made Oliver’s heart ache for when that was the worst of their problems.

Sure there were things to work on, but Elio used to have a _spark._

And now he just… doesn’t, really. 

Or he does some days, but it’s so subdued most of the time… even his pretend happiness isn’t quite right anymore.

 _But you got him to go to the museum again,_ Oliver tells himself. _It’s not all down and out – things could get better again. Things are getting better as it’s getting warmer._

 _He’ll bounce back eventually,_ he tells himself as the elevator doors open.

He’s hopeful, as he comes in to find Elio up and cooking despite being sick instead of on the couch or asleep in bed – he’s been taking a lot of naps lately, claiming it’s just because they’re _‘really good for you’…_

Oliver thinks he’s just bored. And maybe in denial about being a little bit depressed right now.

He knows Elio has just been trying to make the best of what he sees as a necessary situation, but it’s obvious that it’s not been working very well. Elio’s relied on a performance of socialisation to cope for so long, it can’t have been easy for him to transition to such isolation…

 _We went to the museum though, so it’s not all bad,_ Oliver reminds himself again as he walks through the elevator door. _Even if it was only for an hour or so._

“Hey,” he says cautiously, like he’s worried Elio will fall apart if he’s not careful. 

“Hey,” Elio replies, soft and mumbled. “How was work?”

“It was fine,” Oliver shrugs, leaving his bag on the floor and coming over slowly, stopping before he gets too close. “You feeling okay?”

Elio shrugs, silently saying both ‘not really’ and ‘yes, as long as we don’t talk about it’.

“I’m gonna take my shower so I can come closer,” Oliver says.

Elio only nods, singing softly to himself as Oliver leaves.

He's still singing quietly as he returns from the shower…

_“…this one goodnight kiss, will keep all your life… perfect, like… this.”_

Sad, warm, soft instrumentation follows the final words, matching the voice of the singer.

“That’s nice… what is it?” Oliver asks, gesturing to the speaker.

“It’s from a movie,” Elio shrugs, his mind clearly elsewhere. “…Do you think it’s because I’m missing something, because I don’t eat meat?” he asks as he stirs, and Oliver knows his casual tone is a lie.

He sighs.

As much as he wants Elio to loosen up the restrictions he places on himself, he knows that his vegetarianism is because he doesn’t want animals to die for him, not because he was worried about getting sick.

The last thing Oliver wants is for him to give up another thing he loves for mental illness.

“I think it’s because people get sick sometimes – even _really_ healthy people,” Oliver murmurs, coming up behind him and kissing his neck, placing his hands on his hips. “It just happens…”

“It shouldn’t just happen,” Elio disagrees, shaking his head but leaning into Oliver’s warmth as he closes his eyes. 

_The virus comes from somewhere, so I just need to be better at protecting myself,_ Elio thinks, but he keeps it to himself to keep the peace.

Oliver turns him around and presses their lips together.

“I’ll get you sick,” Elio whispers.

“You know I don’t care about that,” Oliver chides lightly, before sighing. “…Are you sure you don’t want me to stay home? You don’t need to pretend you’re okay.”

“I will be fine,” Elio insists, forcing a smile to his lips. “You should have some fun tonight… I _want_ you to have fun.”

In the end Oliver gives in with another sigh, but as he leaves he finds himself proud that Elio has gotten sick and not fallen apart entirely. That, in combination with their recent trip to the museum, has him smiling a little to himself as the elevator descends.

_Maybe I don’t need to say something… maybe now that what he’s been so afraid of has happened he’ll realise that he hasn’t been reasonable…_

Oliver tells himself not to hope, but he can’t help it.

When he gets back it’s earlier than Elio was expecting – usually when they get dinner the night continues into drinks and he ends up deciding to sleep in his own bed.

He’s been fighting to keep his anxiety at bay as he’s felt himself getting sicker, so Oliver won’t have to come home to a gasping, crying mess, and he’s been as successful as he can expect, he thinks.

“Hey,” he says with a small smile from his position on the sofa, wrapped up in a blanket with a cup of peppermint tea.

“Lilo and Stitch?” Oliver asks, smiling back as he comes over. 

Elio nods and takes a deep breath as he turns back to the screen, trying to get the minty steam into his lungs.

Oliver’s smile falls at how red Elio’s eyes are – he’s obviously been crying, but there’s not much he can do to comfort him until he’s showered and changed. 

“I’ll be right back,” Oliver says, to which Elio nods as he heads to the shower.

His hope sours there as he washes the outside world away; he’d wanted things to change _so badly…_

Maybe he will have to say something after all. Soon… maybe tonight.

Ten minutes later they’re curled up together watching the movie, and as much as Oliver would usually sigh at watching another Disney movie, 'Lilo and Stitch' has a little place in his heart.

He wasn’t allowed to watch anything with aliens growing up, so watching it at his friend’s house when he was little felt so special…

“I wish you could have come tonight,” he murmurs as the chaotic events transpire onscreen. “Adrian was asking when he’d finally see you again.”

Elio thinks in that moment that he might hate Adrian. 

He hums an acknowledgement, but otherwise doesn’t respond. 

“...How are you doing?” Oliver asks softly, after another moment’s silence.

Elio bites his lip at first, and then shakes his head. He’s been riding emotional waves all day and he’s finally reached something like equilibrium.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says softly, and then takes a sip of his tea.

Oliver sighs.

“Maybe that’s why we _should_ talk about it,” he presses, leaning his head so Elio has no choice but to look at him. 

_Maybe this is when we talk properly…_

Elio can see the thought going through Oliver’s mind, so he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, to calm himself.

“Oliver, I am scared,” he says slowly. “There is something happening in my body right now that I can’t control, and I’m scared. It’s been a really hard day, so can we please just watch a movie where everything turns out the way I want it to and try to ignore it?”

Oliver stares at him for what feels like a long time, taking in his carefully controlled breathing and the line between his brows. 

He wants to talk to Elio and finally get things moving in the right direction again, before something goes wrong…

But he’s not going to get anywhere if Elio is just going to shut it all out right now.

He wants to say, _‘Okay but we have to talk about it soon,’_ or _‘Okay but you know this isn’t okay, right,’_ but he just can’t. As frustrated as he is, he can’t getting into what could potentially become a yelling match with Elio when he’s like this. 

He decides in that moment that the trip to the villa is his opportunity. 

There will be sunshine, and warmth, and privacy, and Elio will be well again… what better opportunity is he going to get to ease him back into life outside of these walls?

So instead of all he wants to, he just says, “Okay.”

Elio’s face softens at the word and Oliver is glad he chose it. As frustrated as he is, he still loves Elio so much… 

Too much to let him keep living like this when he used to have such a fire for living, even if it was for the wrong reasons sometimes.

Sitting there watching movies until Elio is finally tired enough to fall sleep through his fear of waking up sicker, it hits Oliver once again how much things have changed, for them and between them, since they met… he never thought he’d miss Elio’s quietly frantic way of flitting about the city on his sad days.

He misses Elio annoying him by insisting on taking him places and buying him things… it’s like he’s too scared to push anything these days. He misses when that was their biggest problem…

He wants to get back to that again, and then forward to a better place.

“I love you,” he says as he kisses Elio’s temple after stirring him so they could sleep in the bed. “…We’re going to be okay,” he whispers.

“I love you too,” Elio murmurs after a moment, leaning into the warmth…

He doesn’t comment on the last thing Oliver said, as they get under the covers and go to sleep.

He doesn’t want to lie more than he has to before the villa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added in a chapter worth of events, so it will be this chapter, then the next one, then an epilogue. At least that's the plan :')
> 
> Please let me know if you're still enjoying it 🙂❤️❤️ Still on tumblr as [jeffersonhairpin](https://jeffersonhairpin.tumblr.com)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head at the villa...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the end! But it sure is rough :(
> 
> TW for vomit

Things are nice when they get to the villa, Oliver thinks. It’s warm, the sun is always out, it’s too early in the season for too many people to be around in town…

He feels hopeful here, at first.

One afternoon, after splashing each other in the warm pool and lying down in the shade, they’re in the kitchen tossing a salad when he finds out that Elio can’t whistle and it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen when he tries.

“Shut up!” Elio laughs, struggling to blow air through his lips correctly as he smiles. “I can’t do it normally, how am I supposed to do it when you’re making me laugh!”

“I’m sorry,” Oliver laughs back, placing two hands on his cheeks and kissing his smiling lips. “It was just the most pathetic sound…”

Elio doesn’t say anything else after that, just presses his cheek into Oliver’s chest and soaks in the warmth. 

_Enjoy it while it lasts,_ he thinks with a sigh he hopes comes across as contented.

Slowly Oliver sways them from side to side and then pulls back, taking in the warm flush on his cheeks – he hasn’t let the sun give him such a healthy glow in a long time. He’d almost forgotten how much it suited him.

“This place is good for you,” he sighs. 

“I wish we could stay forever,” Elio murmurs, trying to stay in the happy moment and turning around to keep chopping up the last of the tomatoes.

Oliver doesn’t share his wish. But only because he wants him to be able to be happy wherever he is.

Later that night Oliver is on one of their many sofas with a book from the library, and Elio is curled up practically on top of him, smiling to himself; Oliver’s studying started to take something of a backseat as things between them got more turbulent last year, but since they were last at the villa he’s picked it right back up again, and it makes him happy to see it. 

He hopes it’s a sign that Oliver is planning on using his birthday cheque soon, but he tries to just enjoy the moment and not think about it too much. 

He loves when Oliver is relaxed but frowning at something he’s grappling with, barely paying him any mind… he loves being in this most soothing version of Oliver’s presence.

He loves when Oliver is there, but too distracted to lead them into any conversational minefields, so much…

The peace he feels is unfamiliar, but welcome.

This is only the first few days, though.

Elio has spent the last few weeks mentally preparing for things to go wrong, but it still hurts when it happens.

He’s sure he can track it all back to a conversation Oliver had on the phone with Marzia the night before – a conversation that started with laughter and ended with whispering that frightened him.

“Do you want some ice cream?” Oliver asks, as they pass a storefront with a week left of the visit.

“Umm…” Elio hums as though making up his mind, though he knows what his answer is going to be. “Not really,” he settles on.

“Come on, it’s not going to kill you,” Oliver says with a roll of his eyes and a tug of his hand.

“I don’t want it, I’m not hungry,” Elio insists, resisting.

“It’s not about being _hungry,”_ Oliver argues with a smile. “It’s a summer rite of passage!”

Elio bites his lip. 

Oliver is trying to be casually encouraging, but it’s clear why he’s pushing this. 

Truthfully Elio is worried that his stomach can’t even handle something as rich as ice cream anymore – he’s fairly certain he’s going to throw it up if he has to eat it, and the thought already has his palms sweating.

He can’t be sick here – there’s no way he’s putting his head in a public toilet or a garbage can, but… he’s pretty sure they’ve been out long enough that Oliver won’t mind if they go home straight afterwards. 

Maybe he can risk it to keep him happy; it’s not a long ride home.

In the end Elio gives in and allows himself to be pulled towards the ice creams on display, despite the knot already forming in his stomach at the thought of eating any of them. He makes note of the flavour he thinks is least likely to make him sick and tries his best not to fiddle with his hands too much as he attempts to control his rising anxiety; not only at the thought of putting a recipe he knows nothing about into his body, but also at all the people nearby.

Mostly the crowds are pretty dispersed at this time of the season, but it’s a hot day so naturally everyone is crowding around the cold food. 

He holds Oliver’s hand tight and leans closer to him, hoping he thinks his sweaty palm is just from the heat. 

The wait is mercifully short and soon they’re able to get away from the crowd with their cones. Elio thanks the god he no longer believes in as they wander into the square and takes a deep breath.

Oliver looks happy with his victory, but the only smile Elio can manage to conjure when he looks his way is obviously forced, and poorly disguising his distress. 

Oliver says nothing and Elio feels like he’s eating dust. 

The thought – and the knowledge that dust is largely made up of dead skin cells, bacteria and mites – doesn’t help him as he chokes half of his cone down and dumps the other half. Half is a respectable enough attempt apparently, as Oliver throws out his own at the same time, satisfied.

He looks happy with what he sees as progress as they ride with the windows down in the taxi on the way home, but Elio is just trying not to shake too badly and to swallow back the spit flooding his mouth. He can feel his stomach rejecting the sugar and dairy and whatever else might have been in there already.

He feels compromised.

The second they arrive home he rushes inside, not waiting for Oliver to pay the driver or to say thank you. He barely even hears him calling after him.

He makes it to the kitchen sink, breathes deeply for a moment with a wobbling lip and a distressed whine, and then the ice cream is exiting his body.

He feels like he’s being turned inside out as he heaves, but his brain tells him that it’s good – it’s better to get it out this way than to let it hurt him and make him sicker. Who _knows_ what a small town ice cream shop’s health and safety practices are like? In Italy? Who _knows_ how long that ice cream was there in the heat, or how many times it’s melted and been refrozen?

His stomach is cramping with the force of his heaving as he thinks about it, even when the ice cream is gone and there’s nothing but bile and saliva coming up. 

He’s so wrapped up in his terrified thoughts that he doesn’t even think about Oliver following him to see.

“…Jesus, Elio,” he says, startling him from behind. 

He’s been watching for a while, and he doesn’t believe for a second that Elio is truly physically sick.

The sound of his – disgust? Pity? – tips Elio over some edge, turning his exhaustion into grief.

“I didn’t want to,” he says softly like an excuse, as tears well in his eyes, his shaky voice hoarse from the bile. 

“You didn’t want to what?” Oliver says, coming to his side and turning on the faucet, wiping his mouth with a gentle hand under the stream. 

Elio is perfectly capable of doing it himself, but the tenderness is comforting in the moment.

“I didn’t want to eat it, but you wanted me to,” Elio manages between little hitched breaths, trying not to start crying in earnest. “…I didn’t want to make you mad,” he cries, failing to keep it under control as Oliver holds him to his chest with a hand at the back of his head.

“I wouldn’t have been mad,” he murmurs, but Elio is sure it isn’t true, which only makes him cry harder. 

He doesn’t know how to win in this.

In the moment, everything just feels hopeless.

After a few more jagged breaths Oliver lets out a long sigh and feels Elio tensing up at the sound.

“…Did you make yourself throw it up?” he asks, his voice carefully even.

Elio pulls back, surprised. He’d been relieved to have it out of his body, but he hadn’t made it happen; why would Oliver think that?

…Although.

If it hadn’t come up naturally, he can’t say whether he would have wanted to make it happen or not. 

The idea of sitting with it in his stomach all night…

“No,” he finally says, in a high, trembling voice that does nothing to soothe the concerns of the man in front of him. 

“Okay,” Oliver says slowly as he nods, trying to figure out what to do. “Well... what happened, then?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Elio almost whimpers, turning away and wiping his eyes. “Maybe it went bad or something, I don’t know.”

He feels too shaky and upset to be around Oliver’s questioning right now.

“I don’t think it did,” Oliver disagrees, pointing out, “A lot of people around us had the same flavour as you and they all seemed fine.”

He sighs again when Elio doesn’t turn back around or say anything, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Elio… whether you made it happen or not, we both know _why_ it happened.” 

Elio just shakes his head – denying the assertion, denying the conversation, denying the turning he can hear in Oliver’s voice…

 _“Elio,”_ Oliver says again, his voice desperate as it breaks. “This isn’t okay… You _need_ help. We _need_ to get you some help.”

The words are said with such a pleading, but they’re the last ones Elio wants to hear. The earnest tone goes straight over his head, and all he hears is the pressure behind the words.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” he says, walking away.

Oliver pursues.

“We _need_ to talk about it,” he insists.

“It’s fine, I just won’t eat ice cream next time we’re in town,” Elio says as he continues towards the living room, his words dismissive but his voice still unsteady. 

Oliver groans in frustration as he follows, feeling a barrier in him break at the denial. 

It was easy enough for him to let Elio play pretend when he was in New York and had other people to talk to, but being alone with him here for a week has left him seeing few other options if they’re going to have a future together.

“You can’t just _not do_ every little thing that scares you!” he snaps, and at that Elio turns around.

He wipes his mouth on his sleeve and gets a steely look in his eye that Oliver can’t quite read.

Quietly, he’s preparing for a conversation he’s known was coming for weeks.

“It’s not just what scares me Oliver,” he asserts. “It’s what could _kill_ me – you’d recover from bad food poisoning, but who _knows_ what my body would do with that?”

Oliver looks like he’s choking on his frustration as Elio speaks, letting it all out when he finds his voice after.

 _“God,_ there it is!” he exclaims, gesturing. “Sometimes I think you get that this is _crazy,_ when you’re sad, or after you’ve panicked, or when you can’t go somewhere you actually want to go… _Sometimes_ I think you get that this is a problem and that you need to get a hold of it, and then you go and say something like that! Do you know how fucking _insane_ that sounds, to be scared you’re going to die because of some ice cream?”

Elio is taken aback at the wrath in Oliver’s tone, all his steel disappearing.

“Don’t call me insane,” he says, his voice small as he shakes his head.

“Elio, _this_ , is insane,” Oliver says, gesturing around them. “The fact that you have to be in the middle of nowhere in Italy to feel like you might not die of the common cold, is _insane.”_

“You don’t understand,” Elio says softly, shaking his head again. “You’re… medically illiterate, you can’t understand the situation.”

“You’re not a doctor, Elio,” Oliver groans. “And I know enough to know that when I met you, you worked at the bookshop and you weren’t afraid. And you weren’t _dying_ – you were fine. You were living your life – don’t you want to _do_ something with your life?”

“Of course I do, but I’m _safe_ here!” Elio insists. 

“You can’t just stay here forever, Elio!”

“Why not?” he almost whines, desperately.

“Because _I won’t_ stay here forever.”

The silence following Oliver’s words is broken only by Elio’s uneven breaths, as fresh tears fall down his cheeks. 

When he looks up briefly and sees such a pleading look on Oliver’s face it makes him cry harder. 

He knows it’s only the truth that Oliver has spoken… he can’t stay here forever. And _he_ can’t stay in New York. Oliver doesn’t just mean that he won’t stay at the villa forever though – he means he won’t stay with him forever if nothing is going to change.

There is no halfway where they can meet each other.

“I’m sorry,” Elio cries at the once more fresh realisation, rushing forward into Oliver’s arms. “I know you can’t stay here, I’m sorry.”

Oliver doesn’t seem to catch on that he’s only sorry that they _both_ can’t stay, as he holds him.

__

Elio doesn’t realise until that moment how it’s solidified in his mind in their time here, that he plans to stay. Being able to go places and not be worried like he is in New York, being able to lie in the shade without driving for hours to find solitude… 

__

This is the best place for him.

__

“It’s okay,” Oliver says, and Elio can hear that he’s not sure where they’ve ended up. 

__

He’s not sure whether to back off for a second or push things over the edge.

__

Elio takes advantage of his indecision and pulls back slightly, leaning up and pressing their lips together roughly. 

__

Oliver needs to stop talking. Talking can only speed up the end. 

__

His response is slow with his confusion, but Elio knows when he has him – it’s not like their sex life has ever really been affected by everything that’s changed, after all. 

__

Oliver hums as his hands drift lower, his mind led exactly where Elio wants it to go, and soon they find themselves in the bed upstairs. 

__

It’s intense and slow and heady for both of them… but also terribly final, for Elio. His thoughts can’t help but turn melancholy when it’s over and they’re lying on top of the covers panting.

__

He’s never felt so in love or so unsatisfied… he will always want more of Oliver, and there will never be enough now. 

__

Oliver will move on and remember him as a moment that he thought might last forever, long since a story… and Elio will be here.

__

He’ll stay here, and eventually Oliver will move forward and give his love to other people.

__

A shard of bitterness pierces Elio’s sweet, tragic bubble, and his mind drifts to who Oliver will be with after him. Despite all his own shortcomings he can’t help but think that they’ll never be good enough. 

__

_At least it’ll probably be someone less crazy… someone like Adrian._

__

Elio feels his lip curl up a little at the thought, as Oliver catches his breath beside him. 

__

_He’ll probably be fucking Adrian by next month, if he hasn’t started already… they spend so much time together – or with Sadie, and it’s not like she’d discourage it. It’s not like she doesn’t think I’m crazy too…_

__

The furrow in his brow turns from bitter to upset at the thought. 

__

He can feel mean and irreverent about the thought of Oliver being with someone else when it’s all over, to protect himself… but the thought that Oliver has been doing it already? While he thought they were still in love despite it all?

__

Has Oliver been tired enough of his limitations to give in, yet? 

__

And if he has… if he’d lie about having sex with Adrian, he certainly wouldn’t tell him if they’d been unsafe – and Oliver is trusting enough that he might believe him if he said he was clean if his reaction to putting on a condom their first time is anything to go by…

__

…What if he’s been making a huge mistake every time they’ve slept together, since Oliver and Adrian met?

__

Elio’s paranoid thoughts build until he can’t stop himself from speaking – he has to know if he’s safe…

__

“Oliver…” he says, into the quiet of the room. 

__

Oliver frowns at the sinking in his voice.

__

“Yes?” he asks, his wariness and his weariness clear as he sits up to get a better view of Elio’s crushed expression.

__

Elio turns his head like he’s not sure how to phrase what he wants to say. His mouth is open, but he’s silent for a long time before he speaks.

__

“…You’re still—” 

__

He sighs.

__

“You’d… tell me, if you cheated on me… right?”

__

It takes a moment for Oliver’s brain to wrap around what was just said, but once it does, he instantly realises where Elio’s mind has gone to lead him to ask such a question.

__

“Fuck, Elio,” he groans, sitting up. “Are you fucking _serious_ right now?”

__

“Just answer the question,” Elio says in a high voice as he follows, like he already knows the answer.

__

And that just pisses Oliver off more, because clearly _he doesn’t._

__

“Yes, I would tell you if I cheated on you, and no I _haven’t,”_ he says, pulling on his boxers and jeans, and grabbing his shirt before walking towards the door.

__

He turns around for a moment, to see Elio sitting up on the bed looking devastated. That only pisses him off more, as he scoffs and goes downstairs, pulling on his shirt as he does.

__

_You don’t get to give me a wounded look after asking me that question,_ he thinks furiously as he pours himself a glass of water, trying to calm down.

__

_Not when the only reason your mind would even go there is your own fucking hypochondriac OCD that you won’t go figure out. All the money in the goddamn world and you won’t even try to find a fucking therapist._

__

He drains the entire glass waiting to feel less furious but in the end he’s still left seething. 

__

His thoughts are going in a loop as he tries to find a way to phrase an ultimatum that will convince Elio to choose the right option

__

It doesn’t help cool his rage when Elio’s phone starts ringing, the tone grating.

__

At first he just lets it ring out, but when it starts up again he places the glass down roughly and goes to answer it.

__

He’s expecting it to be one of Elio’s parents, or maybe Marzia – after all, who else does he really talk to these days, after declining so many invitations? 

__

But it’s none of those people; the number isn’t even saved to a contact.

__

“Elio’s phone, who is it?” Oliver asks, failing to keep his impatience out of his voice.

__

He isn’t sure what he expects to hear, but it’s not what he does.

__

“…Oliver?” he hears.

__

He’d recognise the voice anywhere, but he doesn’t say her name.

__

“…Yes,” he says slowly, hoping he’s wrong. 

__

How would she even…

__

“Who’s this?” he asks, though it’s clear he knows the answer.

__

“Oh my god,” he hears, happy tears already shaking that familiar voice. 

__

As he turns his head in shock, he sees Elio standing at the bottom of the stairs, a hand covering his mouth and tears in his wide eyes. 

__

Oliver’s hand feels numb, but after a moment of dumb shock his brain screams at him that he’s risking her inheritance and he hangs up the phone, dropping it to the table like it’s burning him.

__

Elio doesn’t move an inch, as Oliver’s brain catches up with what he’s just discovered.

__

By the time he turns to look at him like he doesn’t even know him, tears are streaming down his face again.

__

Elio feels sick. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt anything worse than this.

__

“Please don’t hate me,” he begs, but Oliver’s expression barely changes. His eyes look so dark, and flat, in the fading light...

__

“How long,” is all that he says, not meeting his eyes anymore but staring through the doorway next to him.

__

“Just a couple of months,” Elio says, but he knows the ‘just’ doesn’t make it any less damning.

__

“Months,” Oliver says to himself, closing his eyes. 

__

He takes a deep breath to stay calm, but Elio can see the rage slowly bubbling up, just below the surface now. When the phone starts ringing again Oliver stops trying to calm himself and grabs it, marching out the door and throwing it out onto the grass outside.

__

Elio doesn’t even think about whether it’s broken – he only wants to try to fix things with Oliver. He knows he’s crossed a line and he can’t take it back, but he still wants to plead his case as Oliver returns.

__

“I just… I just sent her a friend request, one day,” he manages, his tone desperate. “She already knew who I was, she already knew we were together – from her friend, Chastity, remember? She just wanted to hear about how you were doing… she’s proud of you.”

__

Elio hopes that her pride will soften something in him, but he sees no outward sign of any change. Oliver doesn’t say a word for a long time, clearly still processing up until the line between his brows deepens, and he lets out a long, angry breath through his nose.

__

“Have you not listened to a _single thing_ I’ve said about my father?” he asks.

__

Elio’s heart breaks at the tone in his voice as he speaks. There’s no understanding there; no love shining through the wrath. 

__

“Of course I have, but—”

__

“What if he found out? Did you even think for a _second_ about what would happen if he caught her talking to her disowned brother’s fucking _boyfriend?”_

__

It takes Elio a second to find his words, but when he does there’s more strength in his voice despite his tears.

__

“Doesn’t her opinion on it matter at all?” he asks, his expression pinched. “She’s not a child, and she decided she wanted this. She called _me.”_

__

“And you didn’t think you should make _your_ decision with _me?”_ Oliver asks, not budging an inch. “What about what _I_ wanted?”

__

“I… I thought you’d be happy about it, in the end. I figured it was better to ask for forgiveness, than permission,” Elio says, his voice small as he lowers his head. 

__

Oliver lets out an incredulous huff, unforgiving.

__

“It wasn’t,” he says flatly.

__

There’s silence for a long time, and Elio is waiting for it to break into relief; to give way to something like love, or understanding, or patience, like it always has before…

__

But it doesn’t.

__

Instead Oliver shakes his head and gives a humourless laugh.

__

“I can’t fucking believe you,” he says, and in his tone Elio can hear exactly what he’s seen today.

__

He hears in that voice how tired Oliver must be of dealing with him, and something in him crumbles at the sound. 

__

He can’t expect Oliver to deal with him being sick in the sink because he’s scared, crying about it, all but accusing him of cheating, and then revealing that he’s been the one betraying _him_ so deeply for months…

__

No matter what beautiful past they’ve had together, it’s clear to Elio in that moment that he doesn’t have anything to give to him anymore.

__

And he loves Oliver enough not to try to keep him trapped with him.

As the crying stops in his cold realisation, something betrayed in Oliver solidifies. 

__

He pushes past him and up the stairs and doesn’t look back. He calls a taxi and shoves all of his things roughly into his suitcase as he waits for it to arrive.

__

He can’t enable him anymore, and he can’t fight his battle for him. Marzia was right on the phone last night – if Elio is going to change, it’s going to be because of Elio. 

__

Nothing he says will ever make a difference.

__

Even through his rage, something in Oliver is still doing this because he believes it’s what Elio needs – that part is just buried, right now.

__

Downstairs, Elio’s shock has worn off and he’s just trying to not make Oliver hate him more by crying too loudly. He can hear movement upstairs, but he refuses to acknowledge what it is until the truth is standing undeniable before him.

__

When Oliver appears in the archway holding his suitcase his jaw is set, and his breaths are too deep to appear calm.

__

“I’m—” he begins, cutting himself off and shaking his head. “I can’t be around you right now,” he says. 

__

And Elio understands.

__

Every insecurity he’s developed during his months alone in his apartment comes out in the moment and the only thing he _doesn’t_ understand is how Oliver has put up with him as long as he has

__

Oliver has put him first so many times, has pushed him to open up instead of burying things so often, has dug deeper so many times, when he could have just walked away like everyone else…

__

He couldn’t expect him to put in that kind of effort for so little in return forever. Not when he’ll always be sick like this, will always be holding him back; will always be afraid in all the ways Oliver needs him to be brave.

__

Oliver knows things about him that nobody else knows – that nobody else _will_ ever know – but eventually he was always going to have to take those things, and walk away… 

__

And forget them, one day.

__

“…You should go then,” is all that Elio says, trying not to make the inevitable any harder.

__

He can see on Oliver’s face that his accepting tone does nothing to help things. 

__

He understands. 

__

They stand staring at one another for only a moment, before the sound of tyres on gravel snaps Oliver out of it. He adjusts his grip on his suitcase, and walks towards the door. 

__

He stops in the doorway and turns like he’s going to say something, but nothing good comes to mind. He’s too angry to say something he won’t regret. 

__

He leaves without a word, and Elio forces himself to wait until the sound of the car fades before he lets himself fall apart.

__

He knew this was coming, he tells himself.

__

But for all his preparation, he still wasn’t ready.

__

How could he possibly have been ready?

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr at [jeffersonhairpin](https://jeffersonhairpin.tumblr.com)
> 
> Please let me know what you think/if I made you as sad as I made me :')))))


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